Obsessions
by phantom's angel52
Summary: Christine is obsessed with his protection, though his obsession is exactly what she was afraid of. Modern telling.
1. The Attacker

Author's Note: Yes, this is a modern fic. I know many people attempt to make modern Phantom stories, so I guess I'll make my attempts as well. I am really trying it because I had an interesting idea occur to me not long ago. With this idea, I realized that this would really only work easiest in a modern-age piece. I always try and stick to Leroux, but there are things that are going to either have to be a bit more original or borrow from other versions. In a way, this Erik is going to be conflicting with a few version of the character… Always a Leroux!Erik base, but there will be hints of ALW!Erik and even Dance!Erik (anybody who hasn't seen this version is missing out :D). Christine, on the other hand, is very different. Very modern, very self-sufficient and has a bit of a different past to her. Yes, this can be argued to be sounding a bit like Leroux, but it's not. Just trust me on this. It will be further detailed as I go.

Anyway, thanks to those who are continuing to read from my previous fic, The Voice! I really appreciate the follow. Otherwise, this is my second piece that is available, but I believe my seventh work overall (all former phics were lost). So without further ado… Obsessions.

It had rained earlier that evening as students were actively leaving the campus to return to their lodgings. Some returned to the dormitories just down the street while others had family just within the reach of the city's commuters. Those like Christine were fortunate enough to have their own dwellings. Though small, she was able to afford enough with her job working at a restaurant to live comfortably, while her parents paid for her schooling.

Christine was just now leaving the school. The skies were beginning to clear and the street was still slick and glossy. Mirrored lights on the pavement shone from below her as she descended down the stairs from the studio, running her hand along the soaked railing. Her glove absorbed all of the dewdrops and dampened her hand, but she simply looked at the moist knitting and smiled. She truly loved the rain. Something about the darkness of the days that came with rain made her calm and relaxed. She was a bit disappointed that she had missed this rain while she was working on her project.

She sighed quietly and beamed as she began down the street, pulling her scarf tightly around her neck and hunching her shoulders to preserve heat. Her backpack was hanging off one of her shoulders, bouncing against her side and she strode through the night, taking her normal route from the University to her apartment. Even with the heavy drape hanging over the city, Christine felt she could feel the weight of the city pressing against her shoulders, forcing her to remain tense as she moved. It was clear, her hours spent working on her project were beginning to take a toll on her. It was as if she could feel the eyes of New York resting upon her, reminding her she had a deadline to meet. She needed to finish everything she had begun, as well as one final masterpiece… whatever that was.

Her mind slipped away from her workload as she came across the final block before her home. The bright lights of construction shone toward her, drawing her to look up and observe the scaffolding. She hated walking past the construction site. It made her feel incredibly uneasy as she would walk through the metal and boarded tunnels, hearing the whistles of the workers calling down to her. Many of the men would hoot and holler for her number, begging to take her out when all she wanted was to pass.

A shudder took hold of her body, giving her chills that ran up her arms. There was nothing she hated more than the attention of men like this. She stopped at the center of the block, looking back and forth, wondering if there was an alternate route she could take until they completed their contract. The option of avoiding them looked bleak until she caught sight of an alley that led through to the parallel street. With thought, she knew that she could go through and run into the back of her apartment building. Only a little extra time out of her walk home.

Christine turned down the alley, trying to push away the thoughts of stress glaring at her like a pair of hard eyes against the back of her head. Her footsteps echoed in the narrow space, announcing her presence to the garbage cans and recyclables piled outside of the locked doors. No lights shone down this alley, yet the street ahead offered a beacon to follow. Suddenly, a silent scuff caught her attention.

She looked up to see a man walking toward her, his hands in his pockets and his hooded form looking downward. Christine took the same posture, keeping her hands in the pockets and her head low, letting her blonde hair fall to try and mask her face. She slightly turned away, avoiding eye contact when he looked up suddenly before passing her, taking a second look just before she was about to pass.

"Hey, Beautiful," he said, his lips puckering as he spoke.

Christine kept walking, turning her head away from him and trying to ignore his remark. She didn't even want to look at him, she was so bothered that her attempt to try and avoid comments like this was ruined.

A sudden pain struck through Christine's arm, whipping her back around in the direction she came from to look directly at the man passing by. His eyes were dark and filled with spite as he pulled her close to his face and tightened his fingers around her.

"I'm talking to you!" the man spat in her face.

Christine struggled against his grip, trying to pull her arm free, but he quickly gained access to her other arm and turned her around again, this time so her back was resting against his chest. A strong arm wrapped around her waist while the other quickly reached into his pocket and flipped a knife out and against Christine's neck.

"No," Christine breathed, struggling against his hold.

"Not so fast, Beautiful," the man said in her ear, pulling her even closer to him.

"Let me go," Christine choked.

The knife was resting against her throat now, threatening to kill her with a slight twist of his wrist. Christine closed her eyes and tried to suppress her breathing. She could feel the blade cutting into her skin and her body quivered against him.

"God, you are a pretty little thing, aren't you?" she said while looking over her, running his hand across her waist.

His lips were resting against her neck, unafraid to graze over her as he looked up and down, continuing to feel down her leg and back up again. Christine couldn't control her fear, her shaking was now the source of her only pain as the knife continued to glide over her flesh. The man looked down to the trail of blood running down her neck. He grabbed her arms and spun her around in his grip, pressing himself up against her and the wall of the alley. One hand held her arms tightly behind her back with the assistance of the wall, while the other cupped her breast and squeezed tightly.

Christine squirmed in his embrace, hardly taking away from his control as he ducked his head, just below the opening of her jacket, and ran his tongue up her chest, taking care to lap all of the blood running down. Christine whimpered, trying to ward him off by movement, but he tightened his grip more and pressed himself closer against her.

His lips were covered with her blood as he came back up to look her in the eyes. His features were covered by the shadows formed over his face, distracting from being able to identify her capture.

"Never had one as good looking as you," he said to her, his smile turning wickedly into a snarl.

"Stop, no," Christine cried.

His sharp shoulder stuck into hers, pinning her against the wall and his hands feverishly began to unbutton the jacket and make their way toward her pants. Just as she struggled to try and kick at the man, she could feel his hands wrap around the jacket that was opened but still hanging on her arms. She was forced to spin around from the wall she was pressed against and was stumbling across the alley, catching the hint of another black figure taking hold of the man in the hoodie.

With a trip and stumble, Christine's head hit against the opposing wall and she went cold on the damp cement surface.


	2. The Abandoned Room

_**Author's Note:** This came out a lot faster than I had originally intended. I was in a writing mode and didn't feel prepared to continue work on an original fiction I'm doing, and this was the perfect fit for the night. Speaking of which, I am have a tumblr blog for my fiction and other pieces of writing I do, if anybody is interested to check it out: /writersblogg Comments and reviews are greatly appreciated and though this chapter is another short one, it is setting up the premise for the rest of the story. Hope y'all enjoy!_

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><p>The air was cold, but not bitter and damp like she expected. In fact, it was completely still as Christine stirred underneath a thin cover, stretching her sore muscles against the silken drape. She could feel her jeans and thermal shirt running against the linen, her socks twisting between her toes. Her head turned against the fluff of what felt like a pillow and her arms stretched high over her head, her knuckles tapping against the metal bars of a headpiece to a bed. She was inside. She was out of the cold and secure from the outside world. She was safe.<p>

Yet as the idea sat peacefully inside of her mind, her eyes shot open and she lifted from the bed's warmth. Instant pain rushed over her, numbing her temples and forcing her to shut her eyes again and rest against the bars behind her. She massaged her brow, trying desperately to focus her vision enough to see. To escape.

She was surely in the clutches of her attacker from last night. No doubt, this was his dwelling and he had brought her home as a prize. It was an easy gift to himself, once she was knocked unconscious. All he had to do was take her in his arms and pass her off as his drunken girlfriend to anybody who asked. Undoubtedly, her purity was no longer intact.

The pain began to recede, offering the dim light from a single candle to offer as her beacon. She let her eyes focus on that until she was able to make out small objects beside her: a bedside table, a book, a pencil, a single rose in a water glass. The rest of the room seemed torn. Wall paper was scraped off of the partitions, rubble was dribbled across the floor and boards were peaking through the ceiling. There was no other offer to light except for the daylight coming from a window through a door in the distance before her.

Christine tried again to sit herself up when another wave of lightheadedness crashed over her senses. She sat back, squinting and reaching into the air, feeling for anything to grab hold of for support – for the jacket that was removed or her shoes, where ever they may be. She had to get out.

"Lay down," a voice said from beside her.

Christine gave a start, turning quickly to the source of the voice. He was sat on the dark corner of the room, away from the candle and the distant window. His features were completely blacked out from the shadows. Christine tried to adjust her vision, straining to get a glimpse of the voice's face. There was no movement, yet she could see an intense stare behind the facade of the darkness. With a hand for support against her brow, she made another failed attempt to pull herself away from the bed.

"Lay down," the voice repeated. "You are safe here."

The voice was soft and precise with his words. It was steady and calming, despite Christine's instinct for flight. She looked for the eyes of the speaker, but found truth in his lulling voice alone. Her hands trembled against her head, but she slowly began to lower herself down into the sheets, feeling relief as her head rested against the stained pillow.

The figure beside her scooted forward in his seat, pulling himself closer to the bed. The fading flicker from the candle offered the harsh glimpse of a man sitting high in his chair. His hands set calmly on his knees. They were thin and long, nothing like she'd expected the hands of her attacker to look like. His arms, though, did look strong enough to contain her in his grasp. His shoulders were broad, hoisting a proud head on his shoulders. His hair was a dark brown, wildly falling over his forehead and over his ears. Yet as Christine went to look into his eyes, she found that the man watching over her wore a full black mask.

The man must have been watching her, for as soon as her eyes locked onto the cover, he stood and walked away from the chair he was set in, turning his back to her and crossing his arms across his chest. She heard a deep sigh as his head dropped down against his chest.

"I mean you no harm," he said quietly, as if sensing Christine's agitation.

"Are you…—?"

"No," the voice said.

Christine sunk into the bed with relief. Despite how easy it would be to not believe the man, she felt comfort hearing him say it himself. He was not her attacker. In fact, as she scanned through the images slowly entering her mind from that night, she remembered another figure – vaguely – rushing into the picture just before she was thrown against the wall. It must have been this man who came to her aid. Yet, even with the comfort of his confirmation, Christine could hardly take the man seriously. He had her in a dark room, alone and was giving her orders while wearing a mask. It didn't seem logical, yet something in his soft voice sounded pure and void of iniquity.

"Okay," Christine finally said, as if she had decided to believe him.

It seemed it was what her gut was telling her. Even with the warnings and flags running through her mind, she looked upon the mask and sensed a peace about the man.

"You should sleep," the voice said.

"What happened?" Christine asked, ignoring his recommendation.

The man heaved a sigh again, turning to look at her before returning to the chair he originally sat in. He dropped his weight into the chair and leaned over the bed. Christine wanted to pull away from him, fearing his proximity to her, but hesitated. He rested his elbows against the bed and rested his chin on his hands. For the first time, Christine could see his amber eyes. They were intense, yet looked at her with worry. He seemed to show the most concern for her she'd ever received before. He looked at her, watching her blue eyes blink nervously back at him. How badly she wanted to not be so close to him…

He leaned back suddenly into the chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

Christine sighed quietly with relief.

"That guy had you pinned up against—"

"Not that part!" Christine said quickly. She didn't want to relive the actual attack… those were the moments she would be going over for the rest of her life. "What happened after I blacked out?"

"I got you away from him," the man said simply.

"Did he—?"

"No," the voice said.

Christine was relieved she didn't have to finish her question. It wasn't easy to comment on her own near-rape.

"Is he—?"

"You are perfectly safe," the voice confirmed.

Christine nodded slowly, adjusting her head against the pillow. She didn't want to look at the man, but she could see from the corner of her eye the hint of his black mask glistening against the flicker of the candle. It made her feel calm amongst the many emotions that had captured her mind since her waking. Now she was drifting slowly back to sleep. The pain was almost gone now. Her trembling had ceased and her body began to take in warmth as she finally looked shyly to the man watching her.

"Rest," he said. "It will do you good."

Christine nodded, eventually closing her eyes and drifting off into a lucid land of dreams, avoiding the nightmares of reliving her attack and falling into the calming thoughts of a serene voice calling to her and a figure in a mask drifting her on a cloud of sleep.


	3. Dead Batteries

_**Author's Note: **I've got a little fluff for my R/C lovers out there... :D This chapter offers a little bit of revealing background on Christine, as well as a link to Raoul and Christine's past. I am trying to start separating Christine a bit so she is more of my own version of her. I want to truly make her more modern and to fit the premise of this story's purpose, I've had to make some changes to how I'd write my typical Christine. She is more strong and quick witted than I'd normally write Christine's character, but she still has an innocence about her. Reason behind her character's alteration is revealed in this chapter. _

_I appreciate the comments I've gotten so far and would love to hear more on what you think. I love questions, comments, ideas, your thoughts on where the story's going, etc. Fill up that review box and I'll love you forever! I hope you enjoy this chapter and if you review, I will make the next chapter, which features an E/C moment, more special. ;) _

_(Fun fact: I wrote this entire chapter on receipt paper at work. Of course I added some and fixed things on the computer, but it was fun to get paid to write, even if it's not how I'd expected that to happen... PS, go here and follow: .com/) Thank you!_

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><p>The glare of the morning sun woke Christine the next day, forcing her to rise from her cover in darkness from the day before. Her head still throbbed as she sat up, her thermal shirt twisting around her torso, trapping her within the sheets. Surely the sheets and shirt agreed, she should remain in bed. Christine leaned over regardless of their demands and retrieved her phone, switching it on with a harsh jiggle tone disrupting the peace. It was the first sound she heard since her near rape, aside from the voice of the man…<p>

Oh, God, how could she have forgotten?

Christine looked around the room, searching for the masked figure, expecting him to be beside the bed, watching her. He was nowhere. She looked about herself, searching for any sign when it dawned on her: Christine was back at her own apartment.

The sunny window just above the bed, the decorative lamp hanging from the ceiling, the paintings on the walls, the light blue bed sheets and the fresh smell of frebreeze lingering in the air. All were part of her apartment dwelling, unmistakably contrasting to where she had spent the previous day.

How was it possible? How had the man with the enchanting presence delivered her home without her direction? Where was he now?

Christine called out for him, asking if he was still near, but there was no response. The air did not stir the way it did when she was warned of his presence back in that abandoned room. She could not feel him near her like she did as she drifted back to sleep the day before. It was evident that he was not with her.

Christine sighed, her head floating with the thought of his voice. What happened to her? Of course, he told her what happened. But was he to be trusted? Despite her feeling of safety under his protection, she never even caught his name. Whether friend or phantom, she knew she owned her life to him. She knew he had done her no ill during her time in his apparent dwelling. She surely would have felt the signs by now…

The cell phone rang beside her, alerting to missed calls and text messages she received over time. She wondered who had been so worried during her nearly two days of absence. It was now Sunday morning. Thank God for the weekend or she'd have missed class. She had already missed valuable time working on her project.

"Where R you?" "You okay?" "Hey, babe, what's up?"

It was Raoul. She'd almost forgotten.

Christine and Raoul had known each other since grade school. They used to play together during recess every day growing up. Christine was a bit of a tomboy while Raoul loved to try and beat her in games of soccer and football. He was her first kiss when they were only eight years old, but as they went through the years together, they grew apart. Through junior high and high school, they hardly saw each other. Raoul was busy with his sports while Christine sang in the choir. Their crowds were entirely separate and they had practically forgotten about each other. It was when they ran into each other at the student union of the University that they rekindled their friendship. Christine was pleased to grow close again to her old friend. She felt comforted to find a familiar face amongst the strangers of the big city, and of all faces, it was one of her childhood friend. Though with the reunion of their friendship grew the fondness of their younger years, she had never expected Raoul to ask her to be his girlfriend.

It seemed a safe choice for Christine. They were close and Raoul knew all of her secrets. She trusted him with anything and it seemed only right for Christine to say yes. She had never been in a real relationship before. She often saw herself as awkward and uncomfortable around other guys. She hated how they looked at her and especially how they fought over her as if she was a prize. But of course, she had her history with men and poor treatment.

Raoul was the only one to know about her past… about how she'd been sexually assaulted when she was sixteen years old. Not even her parents knew, but it was something that slipped during one of their late night conversations at the University cafeteria. They were talking about nothing in particular, Christine couldn't even remember what it was now. Yet somehow, the information slipped past her. She remembered Raoul's silence; the complete shock that drowned out his features after she let it slip. Christine tried to cover for herself, but Raoul quickly stepped up, offering his full support for her. She never gave him the full details of the encounter, but she assumed he didn't want to know. He only knew that ever since, she'd been a bit reluctant to be around men. He was the only guy she'd really openly talked to since it had happened, because she knew she trusted him the moment they reunited. This affirmation was revealed just before he had asked her to be his girlfriend.

After clearing out her voicemails, Christine quickly got out of bed and showered. She let her hair dry by air, dressing in hast as she watched the time grow closer and closer to 9 o'clock. Her head ached, but she knew she could manage. After all, she was supposed to meet Raoul for breakfast this morning. She called him as soon as she left the apartment.

"Where've you been?" Raoul asked.

She could tell he was trying not to sound too concerned.

"I'll explain when I get there."

She knew that would buy her time to think.

Christine didn't think at all, though. She walked quickly, avoiding all eye contact with strangers as she managed to make it down the block and to the subway. The ride was short and quick, making her only ten minutes late. She walked into the diner and saw Raoul immediately, his face lighting up with relief. His concern was clear, but it was more apparent he was just happy to see her safe.

"Hey, babe," he said, rising from the table to offer and embrace and a kiss on her cheek.

They both took a seat across from each other, Raoul reaching across the table to grab her hands.

"So, what happened? Where have you been?"

His impatience made Christine more nervous.

"Oh, working on my project," she said anxiously.

Raoul frowned.

"I got so involved with it, I just couldn't stop," Christine lied, her head beginning to throb again.

"And your phone? You never answered my texts or calls."

"Battery died."

At least there was some truth, though she couldn't look him in the eye. She bit the corner of her lips and stared at the salt and pepper at the end of the table. Christine felt horrible lying to him. She knew he would be the best person to tell of her ordeal, but she also knew that he would never let her out alone again if she did. Yet when she finally looked at him, he was looking at her with such pity, she wondered if he somehow knew already.

"Chris, you've got to give yourself a break," Raoul said, squeezing her hands. "You're going to run yourself into the ground."

"What do you mean?" Christine asked.

"With your project," Raoul said.

"But, I'm almost done," Christine said, almost like a child. "I just need to get a few more pieces finished."

"And then?" Raoul asked.

"Then?"

She hadn't given much thought to what would happen after her gallery was featured. She'd hoped people would like her work, but with one more semester before graduation, it was almost guaranteed that she'd be featured again. It was compelling to think about, but the work load would surely be just as demanding as it was now.

"I guess I'll start all over again," Christine suggested.

Raoul smiled, shaking his head at her.

"Of course you will," he said.

"Well, what would you like me to do?" Christine asked defensively.

"Exactly what you're doing right now," Raoul said.

Christine frowned.

"You don't want me to continue with this at all, do you?" Christine asked.

"Of course I want you to continue," Raoul retorted. "I don't want you to stop doing what you love. I just think you need to allow yourself some room to breathe. You need to do for yourself a little, too."

"And for you?" Christine asked, joking.

"Well, sure," Raoul said. "That'd be cool too."

They both laughed. It had been a while since Christine had laughed. It was actually becoming a rarity for Christine to do anything outside of her job at the café and preparing for her gallery. School was hardly on her list of "things to do," though she did show up and somehow produced assignments. Raoul was her alternate world, but Christine had grown to be perfectly happy with only his company.

The waitress came to the table and dropped off a pair of sodas and plates of food. Christine looked up to Raoul with confusion.

"I ordered for you," he said. "I hope you're okay with the regular."

"Yes, thank you," Christine said, squeezing his hand back before giving room on the table for their meal.

Raoul dug in immediately to an omelet plate while Christine watched off to the side of her plate, lost in thought. She fought with ideas for her artwork, her relationship with Raoul, her lying to him and how behind she'd been put on her gallery project. Her head was spinning again, lost in what everything that was going on. With all that was happening, why did it have to be now that she'd ran into such a mess the other night?

"Hey," Raoul said, gaining her attention again. "You okay?"

Christine nodded, forcing a smile. She knew she should tell him what really happened, yet she felt somehow that she was better off keeping it to herself. Nothing happened. If he knew, he'd blame himself and Christine couldn't do that to him. He'd always been so strong for her, this was now her moment to be strong and keep him safe, even if it was from herself. Christine began to eat, taking her time as she cut her pancakes, knowing now that after their meal, she should return to the studio to continue working. After her ordeal, it seemed the only place she wanted to be. Of course, Raoul would want to spend more time with her, and now after their conversation, he especially wouldn't understand her need to work. But it was Christine's wish, and she needed nothing more than to immerse herself.

Raoul's face dropped with disappointment when she told him.

"But this is your day off," Raoul said.

"I just have a lot to get done," Christine said. "I just have to finish the last of what I've got and start one last piece before—"

"Start another one?" Raoul said.

"I just had an idea for something, and I just want to…" Christine trailed off, imagining the piece inside of her mind.

"You should enjoy your day off. It will give you a fresh start tomorrow," Raoul said.

"I'm sorry, Raoul," Christine said, taking his hands in hers. "It's almost over, I promise."

"Alright," Raoul said. "But after your gallery, I'm taking you to a nice restaurant."

"Raoul, you don't have to do that," Christine said, flattered.

"I'm going to have to get your attention somehow," Raoul smirked.

Christine hit his chest as he came in to hold her. He pulled her in tightly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her head against his chest. Christine laughed, surrendering to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. He stroked her hair, running his fingers through her damp tendrils.

They parted ways at the subway, Raoul seeing Christine off on her train as he waited for his. The automated voice called Christine in, welcoming her and warning her of the closing doors as she was forced to stand amongst the crowd of travelers. She stood in front of the door, waiting to be closed in when Raoul waved to her.

"Make sure your phone is charged," he said.

"Okay," Christine said just as the doors clicked shut and the train began to pull away.


	4. Art Supplies

_**Author's Note:** This took much longer than I'd expected, but so many changes are going on for me. I do apologize to anybody who is following/has been waiting, if there are any of you. None the less, here is chapter four for you. I wish it was more of a pay off with the wait and all, but it all needs to start coming together some time. _

_One note I just want to add about my Erik in this... he is a steady mix of Dance!Erik and ALW!Erik. I normally keep Leroux in mind, but with this being a different twist for me in doing a modern POTO phic, I figured I should alter my Erik and Christine a little. Christine, like I said before, is sort of my own creation. Erik has his moments when he just radiates with that sort of sexual tension sort of side, but as a person, if very shy and awkward around people. I will eventually get to background on him, though. In the meantime, he will remain mysterious. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please Review so I can get an idea on what you all think. :)_

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><p>Paints and brushes lined the counters, dripping paint from their bristles. The colors merged together on the pallet, turning their vibrant rainbow into an ashy gray. Just beside the items stacked to be washed sat an easel with a finished work featuring a nightingale perched beside an opening rose bud. The pedals seemed to be opening reluctantly, to the song of the bird, as if the thought of the dark of night frightened the bud. The background was a deep blue, with a fog rolling in from across the distant plains. The rose was pure and white with its opening lips stained with rogue blood from the wing of the bird. It appeared the nightingale attempted to embrace the flower, but was pierced by its thorn. On one pedal, still white as the bird, a single dew drop glistened amongst the darkness, like a tear.<p>

Christine pulled the pallet from the side of the painting, sticking it under hot running water. Her hands smeared the paint in the sink, distilling the colors even more within her fingers, removing the thick substance and turning it into a watery mess. Soaked brushes sat out of the sink, drying on the face of a paper towel and Christine continued swirling in the paints. The pallet was always Christine's favorite item to wash after working. She'd often make a mess of her hands until her supplies were spotless. Then she'd wash her hands half-heartedly, not caring how much paint was removed from under her fingernails. It was one of the few moments that she felt allowed to actually use her hands amongst her tools. Painting required a brush and a canvas to her department. The tools allowed were immense, but it was the joy of actually feeling the paint against her fingertips that made her feel accomplished at the end of the night.

After the pallet and brushes were finished, she dried her hands, turning back with the towel crinkled in her hands. Her eyes swept over the studio, stopping at a canvas that she'd started at the beginning of the night. She covered the entire surface in a black, blue and gray background, but nothing else. An idea was stuck in her head, yet a few details were failing to be clear to her. Rather than working through it, Christine abandoned the piece for the time being. Finishing the nightingale piece was a major accomplishment for her, so she'd sleep well tonight based off of that.

Christine put the brushes in her box and began sorting those pictures she wasn't fortunate enough to finish. They were stored and locked inside of a closet reserved especially for her artwork for the upcoming gallery. The unfinished ones were kept in front, covering those ready for display. The nightingale piece was stored in back with two other pieces. The rest she slid in the front. She closed the door and hung a lock on the hinge without locking it and turned out to the dark coated canvas.

Pulling a chair up to the table, Christine climbed on top of the table's surface and rested on the table behind her, her feet set on top the chair, placing her elbows on her knees. She looked straight into the face of the work in progress, as if staring would assure a spark of genius. Perhaps she could persuade the canvas to tell her what it was that was missing in her mind's image.

The gloom of the existing art stared right back at Christine, challenging her to further pursue its completion. Every detail at how it should look was so clear to her, yet in the shadow of her thoughts, she wondered: should she create it? Who would learn too much about her through such a piece? After all, every piece she'd created told some story about her. Even if this image in her mind was to be displayed, there was still not enough to complete it, truly. She didn't want to portray the actual near-rape, she only wanted to show the feelings.

Maybe the black and gray alone could portray it better than an actual scene. Christine related to this picture the most now, rather than any of the others. Her feelings couldn't be sorted into a painting, she had too many questions running through her head. She could tell anybody what happened, but she knew she could never explain how it all felt. In reality, nothing even happened, but with the way Christine felt, it was difficult to say if it was fear or adrenaline she felt.

Christine slid off of the table and grabbed the unfinished painting, letting it swing at her side as she walked it back to the closet. With a hard click of the combination lock, Christine put the rest of her supplies into her art box and locked them up in another cupboard. She shoved all the rest of her belongings into her back pack and slung it over her shoulder, rushing out of the studio. Class called in the morning, then a few hours of work at the café before what Christine predicted would be a long night of painting once again.

The door of the arts building screamed as Christine opened it, sending her sense wishing to reply the same way. She buttoned her coat high on her neck and braced herself before stepping down the stoop. She felt a strange air about her, as if she was the focus of everybody's attention. But nobody was present. All students were surely resting her class in just hours, like she should be doing as well. Christine took a deep breath of air and quickly descended down the steps, taking each step quickly as she looked down to assure her footing. Just as she hit the pavement at the bottom, she felt a dark presence all around her. It was a presence that was with her just the other night in the alley. It was suffocating her, yet stopped her in her tracks, keeping her in a dark curiosity. She turned around to face the shadow.

Instantly, Christine saw the shine of the black mask. It was the man from the strange abandoned room, standing tall in the shadows beside the stoop of the art building. He was watching her, with his hands behind his back, staring at her as if he was expecting her to turn around and know it was him waiting for her. Part of her was shocked, but she was relieved by his presence, for his was the most comforting considering their odd history.

"It's you," Christine said in a near whisper.

The figure stepped forward, into the light. He seemed reluctant to the idea of being exposed by the purity of the beams of light pouring on the street's surface. He looked thinner in the light, like he was vulnerable in the glow. He looked at Christine sharply, his eyes the one source of power coming from him, and she noticed for the first time how pale his amber eyes were. His hood shadowed many features of his mask and the skin exposed beneath it, yet his eyes glowed.

"How did you find me?" Christine asked.

"School ID," the man answered.

Christine nodded, feeling rather stupid at how simple the answer was. But at least it was one more answer to the questions filling her mind ever since the encounter. If only every question were so simple to answer.

"Oh," Christine replied, finally.

Though delayed, at least it was a response. She could feel his shadow shifting in the unnerving spotlight on his back, anxious for more than such a simple response. His arms came forward from behind his back and shot forward, holding a grey coat out in his grip. Christine gasped and looked at the coat, recognizing the large black buttons and characteristic plaid lining on the inside.

"My coat," she said, reaching out for it cautiously.

The man offered it to her, letting his hands linger in the air as Christine removed it from his possession. His fingers curled in with a rhythm that Christine found to be peculiar, yet she smiled at his gesture.

"I thought you might need it," he said.

"Thank you," Christine said as she held the coat close to her face, letting its warmth flush over her cheeks. Perhaps this was the proof she needed to believe that he was actually real. "For everything."

The man took a step backward, removing himself from her appreciation. He was much leaner than Christine imagined, for her memory of him sitting beside her bed was limited. Though he was just as tall as she imagined, he had no curve beneath the bulk of the long jacket and dark jeans. His hands were inside of his pockets now and his dark hair was shaggy, as if he had been keeping it up himself.

"May I walk you home?" the man asked suddenly.

"Yes," Christine said immediately. "Yes, of course."

The masked figure seemed taken back by her instant response and stared at her for a moment. Then, with another graceful sweep of his arms, he allowed her to take the lead. Christine wasn't sure if he allowed her to guide because he didn't know the way, or if he was simply being a gentleman, but eventually their pace met and they were walking side by side and exiting the campus.

"I suppose you'd be the best company to walk me home," Christine said abruptly, trying to cover up the silence. "Considering how much you've helped me before, and everything…"

The man didn't respond, yet Christine could feel him watching her. His eyes were intent on her, as if removing her from his vision would put her in danger again. Christine felt comforted, finding herself smiling lightly to herself at the idea of him always being available to protect. He was a sort of guardian, sent to remove all threats of those who were after her.

"May I ask you something?" Christine asked without looking to him.

The silence between them suggested his compliance.

"How did you find out where I live?"

The man never wavered.

"Driver's license," was all he needed to say, and once again, Christine was feeling as if she had preserved him to be a stalker.

"Of course," Christine said, a quiver in her voice of embarrassment.

They continued onward in silence. Christine clung to the extra coat in her arms, burring her nose deep inside of the folds and occasionally glancing sideways to see if the man in the mask was still watching her. He always was. For being the city that never slept, it seemed everybody was away this Sunday night, for even the dinners were vacant. The absence of reality kept Christine's mind focused on the man beside her, asking questions she dared not ask out loud. It was the light ahead of them as they turned a corner and the yell of men in orange vests that slowed Christine's pace.

Her eyes grew wide as the men working on the building just before her apartment were hanging off the scaffolding, drinking out of thermal mugs and laughing amongst each other.

She peered to her side, the side absent of her protector, and saw the alley, dark as ever with the option of passing without the holler of the construction men. Before she knew it, she was completely stopped beside her usher. Christine began to tremble, remembering her decision just a couple nights ago. She'd avoided the cat calls from the men working, yet she had another calling within the only other option to her.

The man beside her was not hiding his watching her. His head was turned fully to her and he was waiting for her to make a movement. It was as if he was waiting to see what courage she did or did not possess, like he knew her decision to go down the alley that night was not out of necessity.

Christine didn't move, but stood and looked back and forth. The alley would be safe now, she had her protector with her… yet the memories alone would haunt her.

"Come," the man said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

He seemed to read her fear.

They began to walk, his hand wrapping around her and pulling her in closely to his side. She hardly noticed which direction they took, she was so entranced by his warmth against her side. His rhythmic fingers were curled around her, and she was safe. Then the calls began.

"Keep walking," he urged her, quickening their pace.

Christine could feel his opposite arm gesturing toward them, but she didn't dare to look up to see what he was doing. Instead, she focused on his feet and hers, stepping together at the same pace and carrying them in the same direction.

Before she knew it, the voices had faded and their foot steps were slowing. Christine looked up and they were stopped and standing at the stoop of her apartment. She looked up to the masked man, astounded at how little of the men's torment she had felt. She smiled weakly, feeling fragile as his arm unraveled from around her.

"Thanks," she whispered.

Without a word, the man was beginning to walk away, gesturing for her to get inside before she had any trouble. Christine didn't move as she held onto her coat like it was his arm around her.

"Will you walk me home tomorrow?" she called out.

The man stopped, keeping his back to her.

He turned slowly, his mask glistening against the contrasting shadows.

"If you'd like," he said apprehensively.

"I would," she said.

Silence set between them.

"I'm hoping to be done around—"

"I'll be there," he said.

Christine slowly nodded, smiling as he turned around and began walking away again. She let out a heavy breath, what seemed like the first breath she had let out since she first saw him standing in front of her. Every shudder she wished to release under his grip grabbed hold of her and she blinked off the fear inside of her mind.

This man was giving up his time to protect her… what man would do that? Who was this person, and why did he save her life? How did he save her life? Why her? Who was he?

Christine turned for the man again, needing answers…

"Wait!" she called.

But the man in the mask was gone. Again.


	5. Walking Home

_**Author's Note:** I'm sorry this is later than I expected... but life happens. :) I got a puppy a few weeks ago and I have LOTS of hours at work. Plus school. But nobody cares about that stuff... __This chapter is sort of a transition between the beginning of the story and what is to come... I hope the promise of the next chapter being more interesting will keep those of you following tuning in. I have not been very good at getting this transitional stuff done lately... not with this story and not with the original fiction I am working on, so there is another reason why this took me so long. This was, however, written almost entirely while I was working (...again). Thank goodness for slow nights! _

_Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it, and please leave comments to let me know what you think... I'd really appreciate it. :) Also, just wondering, did anybody catch the reference to Susan Kay in the previous chapter? Let's play: "Name that Phantom Reference!" Go..._

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><p>The art which Christine created became increasingly easier for her to complete. Every night that week, she'd stamp out another work, building her way to completion for the gallery set to premier on Friday night. Each stroke she made took less thought as they grazed her canvas, marking her now past life's story on the face of her masterpiece. What pieces once seemed provoking before suddenly bored Christine as she saw them before her in their completed forms. All of her past ideas once inspired great feeling in her now angered her to see her former ingenuity. Everything in Christine's life felt different now. It was as if it wasn't herself anymore and all she had once found special was too simple to appreciate. All of these emotions were changing how she viewed her own art; the art of her previous life. Creating it now was like an omniscient telling of someone she once knew. She'd completed all of her works she'd originated within less than a week, and now she sat and stared at one final piece: the work she'd imagined after her encounter in the alley.<p>

It became routine to finish her painting at 11:52 pm and then begin cleaning. By 12:03 am, she was rushing from the studio to maintain her causally late status, feeling flushed as she pushed through the heavy doors of the art building. She tried to be patient and kept herself from looking for her guardian until after she made her way down the steps. But every night, without fail, the masked man would be waiting for Christine to accompany her home.

He rarely spoke on their travel. In fact, he'd only ask questions of Christine, sending her on a shy illustration of her thoughts on a subject, or a personal story of elaboration to her life. She felt she owed it to the man to be not only be personable, but honest as well. He'd protected a sacred part of her, so it seemed to instantly warrant her a frankness she must give with all she had besides her virginity; her company.

At times she feared she was becoming a bore to the man, but his continued questions and interest in her made her encouraged to continue obliging him. It was the only time she cared to talk about herself, even making discoveries about her perceptions along the way. She was content as well to not ask anything of him, for she felt it would be asking too much. She didn't want to ruin who she imagined her guardian to be. There was only one conversation that she started by herself and one question she needed to ask…

"May I ask you something?" she started.

The intense stare from beneath the mask somehow warranted his approval.

"What is your name?"

"Erik," the man said without hesitation. It was as if he knew that was all Christine truly required to know of him.

"Erik," she repeated, as if trying it out on her lips. "Not what I expected it to be."

"Oh?" he asked plainly.

"No," Christine said. "I imagined it being something more—"

She stopped herself from describing it. She didn't want him to believe she saw him only as a spiritual being with no personal significance to her.

"I guess I just imagined you being something more like…Allistar."

A flash of a smirk crossed his lips, signifying his amusement. Christine began to wonder what his laugh sounded like and what could draw it out.

Even after learning the masked man's name, Christine never used it. She never called him by a name and only thought of the man as "him" when referring to him in her mind. Otherwise, nobody knew about him. Christine knew everybody had their secrets, so he would be hers, for he truly was part of the entire ordeal, which she still hadn't mentioned to Raoul. Nothing was wrong with having a secret, so long as it was properly maintained. After all, this secret was helping her get through finishing her gallery.

She'd finished all the works she'd previously planned, but the night before the gallery was to feature, she sat on the table and stared at a dark canvas, waiting for the spark of inspiration to surface. One last piece was all she needed to complete, yet this last piece was the tie to all the other pieces. It was the one that promoted her growth as an artist, and she knew it.

Christine allowed her mind to wander, imagining herself walking beside the masked man, right by that alley again, feeling a little braver with each step she took. She recalled the feeling of adrenaline every time they walked together down that street, slowing their pace and staring each time. A pounding in her chest warned her of how terrified she was every time she passed that alley. Christine wondered if he – Erik – ever thought she'd be brave enough to face it again someday. Her heart quickened just thinking about it, she could hardly breathe.

With that feeling pressing against her chest, Christine stood quickly, feeling a new rush as she ran across the studio and grabbed several cans of paints. She ignored all of the brushes and returned to the dark canvas sitting alone in the center of the room. Before the idea could seep back out of her mind, Christine began to work feverishly.

The floor was stained with fresh paint dripping off of the canvas as Christine ran her arm across her brow. Grays, blues, purples and red were mixed within Christine's hands, peeling from her palms and clumping beneath her fingernails. Smudges were dabbed across her forehead and cheeks from warding off the haze of fatigue, which she successfully pushed it away. She beamed silently, cleaning only her hands tonight from paint. Her accomplishment felt all the better as she dried off her God-given tools in creating the piece she'd aspired to produce for so long.

Christine packed quickly, now anticipating her walk home with Erik when her phone began to ring. She pulled her phone out of her jacket's pocket and gasped as she saw the name. Raoul. It seemed like ages since she had talked to Raoul. She answered after a pause, putting some distance between her thoughts.

"Hi, Raoul," she said.

"Christine, where are you?" he asked. His voice hinted that he already knew the answer.

"At the studio," she said.

"Oh," he said, confirming his suspicions. "I was hoping you'd be home. Are you almost done?"

Christine's shoulders stiffened as she thought what he'd ask if she said yes. What if he'd want to meet her someplace or be the one to walk home with her tonight? She switched the phone to her other ear, looking out of the door leading down the hall which led to the doors out of the art building. Ultimately leading to Erik.

"No," she said, feeling guilt pour over herself already.

"Oh," Raoul said, a pointed disappointment in his tone. "How much more do you have to finish?"

"Just one," Christine said.

Raoul sighed quietly, but Christine could still hear it. She knew it meant he was preparing to spill to her what was on his mind. It was one of the qualities she loved about Raoul; he didn't keep anything from her. But even if he disagreed with any of her actions, the worst she could do was stick to her guns. It all worked out in the end either way.

"Chris, maybe you should just forget the last painting."

"Forget it?" Christine asked.

"Just save it for next time," he said.

"I can't," Christine protested. "This one has to be there."

"You can," Raoul said. "The gallery is tomorrow. You're over doing yourself. I think you just need to rest up for tomorrow."

"This painting needs to be there, Raoul," Christine said. "It's the most important of the group."

Christine felt as if she really was defending the completion of the painting, when it really was her walk home she was trying to preserve. But painting or walking home, this was one moment she was animate to sticking to her guns.

"I just—" Raoul cut himself off, trying to find the correct words. "I want your gallery to go well. I don't think you should be up late, especially when you work in the morning, that's all."

"Raoul, I appreciate your concern," Christine said, "But I just need to do this."

Raoul's end of the line remained quiet for a moment. His breathing echoed heavy on the other end with exasperation.

"Alright," he finally said dejectedly.

"I'm sorry," Christine said.

She didn't know why she was apologizing. Neither of them had done anything to harm each other, yet she knew that somehow what she was doing to Raoul was wrong. She was amid two worlds, fighting between her interests and her affections. Raoul truly was a cherished aspect of her life, but her art was so important to her, now especially more than ever. And somehow, a new element crept its way into her artistic realm. Erik was fitting into her creative life, holding a key to the deeper qualities her mind could possess. The thought of her lying to her boyfriend to walk home with another guy made it sound horrid on paper, but in her mind, she was merely deepening the elements of her skills.

"Christine?"

She snapped back from staring out the doors leading to the outside of the building.

"I called because I wanted to ask you something."

Christine held her breath.

_Ask me what? _

"I wanted to take advantage of your free night tomorrow," Raoul said.

"My free night?" Christine asked.

"I want to take you up on our offer and take you out to dinner after your gallery."

"Oh, Raoul," Christine said. "Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Good," Raoul said, the charm filling his voice again. "You won't need to change; I am going to take you somewhere nice."

"Raoul, you don't have to do that," Christine said.

"I want to," Raoul said. "For all your hard work. And to be being able to see you again."

Christine laughed, blushing on the opposite end of the line.

"Okay," she said. "I'd like that."

"It's settled then," Raoul said. "I can't wait to see what you've painted. And to see you."

"Can't wait to see you, too."

"Goodnight," Raoul whispered. "Get back to work and get some sleep."

"I'll do my best," Christine teased.

She hung the phone up quickly, snapping the screen against the dial pad. She rested her back against the wall and smiled, still giddy over the smallest pieces of affection. It was moments like this that reminded Christine how long she'd waited for someone like Raoul who looked farther than her appearance to love her.

Her eyes grazed over the clock, notifying her that she was late for her casually late appointment with Erik. Christine adjusted her backpack and rushed out of the door, letting it heavily click behind her.

Erik was in his usually spot, as if he'd expected Christine to be slightly late. He emerged from the shadows, just like he did the first night he appeared to her, and just as he did every night. His amber eyes beat heavily down on her, watching her approach him from the spotlight of the lamp above. Christine sensed him inhale heavily as she approached.

"Ready?" she asked.

He gestured for her to take the lead and eventually caught up with her pace. Together, they walked silently, taking in the coolness of the evening when Christine slowed her pace as she thought. Erik matched her pace, assuming she was slowing because they were nearing the alley. Sure enough, she stopped as they gained sight of its dark entrance. The masked figure stopped beside her, watching her closely as she stared at it without fear. Instead, she seemed angry.

Christine turned to him quickly.

"Tomorrow night. Would you like to see what it is I've been working on so late all of these nights?"


	6. The Gallery

**_Authoer's Note: _**_Another chapter up! Not going to even apologize on the length of time it took me to complete, because in all honesty... I finished it a while ago. Only problem was it was on receipt paper at work and it took me forever to transfer to the computer. This chapter is setting up a turn in the story. It's where Erik really enters the scene. I really do hope you enjoy it, and please leave me some comments/critiques/reviews/messages :)_

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><p>The crowd began to grow, shifting from one end of the dimly lit room and stopping in front of a light featuring another one of Christine Daae's art pieces. They were all quiet, as any would expect patrons of a museum to be, and gazed at each work, cocking their heads to the side and frowning, trying to capture the artist's meaning. Some nodded in approval while others shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders unknowingly. Christine watched them, reminding herself that she could not please everybody. Many visitors to the gallery were Christine's fellow art students of the University, making their usual appearance and donations through the snack shack. A few unfamiliar faces made up the collection as Christine stood and smiled to those passing, gesturing her appreciation for their support in coming. Many congratulated her on her accomplishments and commended her on a stimulating display, unaware that the gallery wasn't over until they'd passed the artist to leave and saw one last painting on their way out.<p>

They'd usually return to Christine to then exclaim over the one piece which held so many more emotions that the rest of them. Many interpretations of what it meant came from the piece, none which were similar to Christine's original intention. But it was the feeling drawn from the piece that was all Christine cared about, and that everybody ultimately related with. It was the feeling of danger taking hold of the viewer, and the engulfing of all fear.

One woman in particular stood before the piece, admiring the streaks of purple and blue merging with a black mask looming in the shadows. She reached up and touched the painting, a large fault for any art viewer, yet Christine kept quiet, giving her a gentle nod of encouragement as their eyes met. Perhaps she understood Christine's illustrations more similarly to her own imagination.

Raoul appeared behind Christine and wrapped his arms around her waist. She gasped, rounding on him quickly in fright as her attention was ripped away from such deep thought.

"You scared me," Christine blushed, trying to hide her embarrassment.

Raoul laughed, kissing her on the forehead.

"Sorry," he said. "Haven't been able to do that for a while."

"I thought time off would help you kick the habit," Christine teased.

Raoul laughed and shrugged lightly. He stepped back from his girlfriend and held his arms out, gesturing to the gallery around him.

"This is amazing," he said. "You did such a great job."

"Thank you," Christine said quietly.

"Really, Chris," he insisted. "Everything looks amazing. Totally work the extra hard work."

Christine watched over Raoul's shoulder, spotting a tall man in a heavy coat standing and staring at the last piece she'd completed. She could only see his dark brown hair and lean frame, but she stared in wonder, anticipating him to turn around. Raoul was commenting on his favorite piece – one featuring a girl lost in a fantasyland forest, hinting of a storybook style, running the opposite direction from the huntsman on horseback – but Christine was hardly paying attention. She felt a similar thrill boiling inside of her, like a still of the heart, just like each night she walked home during that week. The man stood close to the piece, examining every element and even nodding slowly to himself. _Is that you?_ she wondered.

She'd never seen what _he_ looked like underneath the mask…Would he wear the mask in public? Was he not in public before? Would he even accept her invitation from last night?

The man turned and caught her eye, staring at her intently. His cheeks were thin and his eyes sunken beneath his hallow brow. He was dressed in a sport jacket that hung on his frame, and his hair was pushed back behind his ears. He began walking toward her, intentionally moving quickly toward her with their eyes still locked.

"Excuse me," Christine told Raoul absently as he neared.

Raoul stood to the side and observed as Christine approached the man. He pulled his hand out from his coat pocket and held it out for Christine to shake. She looked at the hand and then back to his eyes, which were a brilliant blue. Christine let her breath loose the moment she realized they were not amber.

"Good evening, Miss Daae?" he said in a thick Brooklyn accent.

His voice was harsh and stern; not Erik's voice.

"Yes," Christine said, her arm wobbling as he forced a firm shake from her small hand.

Such force, from a man so unimpressive in stature.

"I'm Charles Bramson," he said, "a patron of the arts here at the University and owner of Bramson Studios."

"Yes, of course," Christine said, despite never hearing the name before. "Pleased to meet you."

"At first, I thought your gallery was incredibly boring. I was on my way out until I noticed this last piece here," Bramson said. "It's quite good."

"Thank you," Christine said, unsure how else to respond to him.

"Tell me, Miss Daae, what materials did you use on this piece?" he asked.

Christine couldn't help but grin, knowing how the heads of her department would react if they could hear her response.

"My fingers."

The man stared at Christine, expecting her to reveal a joke. The smirk wiping away from her face turned his expression to awe.

"You're serious, aren't you?" he asked with a laugh.

"Yes, sir," she said nervously.

"That is remarkable," he said. "Such detail…and the whole image itself; I've come up with 9 different interpretations myself and I'm sure I can imagine more! Yet, the feeling you've created… it hits me so deeply every time…"

"You like it?" Christine asked, a bit astonished by his enthusiasm.

"I love it," he said. "Tell me, is it a fluke that it turned out so well compared to the rest?"

"I've tried out a new technique," Christine said.

"Stick to it, it's working," Bramson said.

Christine was amazed, unable to believe he was so complimentary despite his apparent hatred for the rest of her gallery. The art world just never ceased to amaze her at times.

"Tell you what," Bramson said, "Here's my card. Call me when you're featured again, but only if your work is anything like that."

He pointed to the paining that a group of students were gathered around.

"If I like what I see," he continued, "I'm gonna feature you at one of _my _galleries."

"Featured?" Christine echoed.

"I like your style. Keep that up," he said, pointing to the piece behind him again, "and you'll have no trouble finding work outside of the University."

He walked away abruptly, taking one last look at Christine's painting before shaking his head approvingly and leaving without another word.

Christine stood quiet as Raoul stepped back to her side.

"I can't believe it," she said absently.

"Why not?" Raoul chimed in, "You're wonderful."

The head of the department walked by and pat Christine on the back, half smiling as he walked off to speak amongst his peers. He was a heavy set, round man and hardly showed his approval for anything. He usually kept to himself and only came to events like this from obligation, yet it seemed he'd overheard the conversation Christine had just had with Mr. Bramson and was in his own way, congratulating her. Christine smiled to him, showing her appreciation for his gesture.

The compliments continued throughout the night, namely for her featured work. Christine found herself moving closer to the piece, claiming it even more as time went by. By the end of the night, she was right beside it, smiling the entire time. Raoul stood off to the side, giving her moment. He knew she had worked hard for this, so he agreed to meet her outside of the gallery's doors after she finished. She always kept clean-up to herself, despite his pleas to allow his assistance. He finally gave in and left her just as the crowds were disappearing. She stood behind the last of the groups, idly listening to their conversation until they filed out and it was just her in front of her great masterpiece.

She stared deeply into the piece, trying not to fully close her eyes to remember what sparked it. The lights were off on all displays except for this final piece and Christine stood in the shadows before it. The painting itself was covered in a dark background, with an arch revealing a setting that was reminiscent to the alley. Nothing was concrete, yet the shapes were placed exactly where she remembered them. Two large streaks formed what looked like wings branching out of a Mardi Gras styled mask on a stick. At the bottom left corner, a red splotch was slapped across the surface. The styles were mixed of a similar fantasy style she once portrayed and a baroque darkness, emphasizing the shadows and contrast of colors. The truly unique quality to the painting was the imperfections of the paint formed by the one-of-a-kind prints on her fingers and palms. Nobody could truly remake this piece because only her hands could make it exact.

The room grew drafty, drawing goose bumps across Christine's arms as she embraced herself in the black cocktail dress for warmth. Her jacket was locked in a coat closet, but she felt compelled to stay. Some alluring thought kept her focused on her art; the art of her new attitudes, when she turned suddenly.

"You came," she said.

The mask glistened in the shadows while his golden-amber eyes fixed on her. He stood tall, wearing the same black coat he always wore.

"I didn't know you painted."

"I do," Christine said.

It didn't seem to make much sense that he didn't know what she'd been doing so late at the university's art department every night, but then she realized she never did tell him. To assume he would know was unfair, especially since they'd only "met" exactly one week prior. Christine realized she was staring and turned away from him, embarrassed.

"This one is particularly interesting," Erik said, examining the only painting left in the room.

Christine felt a hint of discontent in his voice, as if he was offended. It was as if her displaying what happened that night was inappropriate to him. With Christine's silence, Erik turned to her and drew her eyes upon him with his authority. Shame swept over Christine, yet she felt entitled to her own feelings as well.

"You're angry," Christine said.

"Oh?" Erik said.

"Because I painted this," she said, pointing a finger straight at the mask on the canvas.

Erik laughed. His laugh was nothing like Christine had exacted it to sound like. It was not soft and inviting like his speaking voice, but cackled with mockery. His eyes never left hers as his humor continued; they bore into her, further imprinting his opinion on her.

"Oh, Christine," he said, calming his laughter, "I'm not angry."

"You're not?" Christine asked, feeling skeptical.

"Not at all," Erik said. "I'm flattered.

Christine blushed, turning away from him and trying to conceal a beaming smile. His hand rested on top of her shoulder, sending a deep shudder down her shoulders. It was the first time he'd really touched her on his own accord. They'd only touched during their walks, when Erik would wrap his arm around her shoulder when passing the construction site. Christine never saw it as anything other than a kind gesture of protection, but as she felt his cold fingers against her bare shoulder, she looked at his fingers and stared. She felt a deep hole in the pit of her stomach, deprived of something she knew she longed for, yet she couldn't name what it was.

"Though I do wonder," Erik said slowly, running his fingers now along her back as he crossed behind her. "Why did you paint it?"

"It helps me coup," Christine said without thought.

Erik nodded, as if he too had a coping mechanism. His fingers were now resting on the opposite shoulder. They did not move once they were locked in place, as if he was too shy to push his boundaries. Christine turned to look at him when she realized how close he was standing to her. Erik turned away quickly and removed his hand from her shoulder, no longer daring. He gripped his arms and stood hunched at the shoulders, his back now facing Christine.

"This painting alone has helped me tremendously in coping," Christine said.

"How is that?" Erik asked from over his shoulder.

"I had to truly think it over before starting to paint it," Christine said.

Erik turned back to her, his amber eyes showing his lack of understanding.

"To create a painting, you have to understand the topic. You have to feel something to portray it correctly. This painting made me go back to that night in a safe way."

Erik's breath grew heavier, as if he was going back to that night and feeling the same adrenaline. He looked to the painting and analyzed it, trying to perhaps understand what Christine meant.

"It's like my own world, where I can control what happens. I control how everything looks and how it plays out," Christine emphasized.

"It's like escape," Erik said.

"Yeah, I guess it is like an escape," Christine said.

"Come with me," Erik said suddenly.

"What?"

"Escape with me," Erik said.

"But...why?"

"To escape. To remove yourself from your world and feel other than this fear."

He gestured to the painting.

Her fear.

"Where?" Christine asked.

"To the river," Erik said.

He grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her with him, indifferent to her minor struggle against him. Christine felt she shouldn't go with him, yet he offered such a curious alternative to her mode of escape that after he'd failed to cooperate with her unwillingness to go, she continued to follow him down.


	7. The River

_**Author's Note:** I sort of want to start a game... "Name Those Phantom References." Because there are a couple in this chapter alone. Probably pretty easy to pick up, but I'd like to see if people catch on to them. I guess if you find them, just leave what you see (and any others you may have seen in previous chapters) in a review. Since this is a modern fic, I like to give a nod to all of those previous versions that have been published, and this could mean anything! (movies, musicals, books, etc.)_

_Anyway, glad I was able to get this one done in a timely manner. I'm hoping not to be leaving you all too long after the end of this one as well. Just because I think you'd hate me if I did... As always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated and thank you to all those who have left me very nice reviews :) But remember, I also do love critique! I do hope you enjoy this chapter. _

_- Phantom's angel _

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><p>Christine looked around her, trying to gage where they were and how far they had traveled. Manhattan island suddenly seemed immense with the distance she felt they'd traveled, yet Erik's grip remained tight around her wrist, insisting her to continue following. She ceased her half-hearted struggle, taking note of the stillness of the air around them; it seemed much lighter, as if their escape was literally a weight off of her shoulders. The streets and alleys that Erik chose to voyage through were sparsely populated despite it being a Friday. It seemed Erik was truly able to avoid any crowd.<p>

Erik turned suddenly toward a stairway leading downward and began leading Christine underground. Christine recoiled her arm from his grip, gasping as she looked down to the pool of darkness below. Erik was disappearing before her eyes as he stepped below, the blackness was so intense, yet the stare from his eyes was even darker. They warned her to continue on with him, so she offered her arm back to him and he snatched it back immediately.

He continued leading her through the workings of the subway system, shielding her against the rats that scurried beneath their feet. Christine felt sick as she could feel their toes and tails being crunched beneath her heels. They screamed and bit at the decorative shoes before she could take another step forward, releasing them from their torture. Eventually, Erik flicked on a lighter and held it in front of them, scaring off the rodents and clearing a path for Christine to walk. He'd stop every so often, gesturing for her to wait and would walk ahead of them in the darkness, giving the lighter a rest, and then would return, making his presence known by a gentle pull at Christine's fingers. He took her back above ground, his grip growing tighter around her wrist as if being exposed to the light of social norms made him fearful for her wellbeing. Christine felt more confident beside him when he held tightly, acknowledging that he was more on guard to her needs.

They plunged back below ground again as Christine's feet began to grow tired. They trudged behind her heavily, wishing to take a break, but Erik turned her toward a vertical ladder leading upward. Christine looked to him and he gestured for her to take the lead. She nodded and began to climb, feeling the weight press against her arms and legs. Each step was a struggle as her eyes closed and shot open again. The fatigue from the past week was wearing on her, and now their walk was proving more difficult that she'd imagined. Christine kept climbing until she emerged out of a manhole, hearing sloshing against a concrete harbor. A blue haze mixed within the darkness of the night, radiating off of Christine's weary eyes. She pulled herself out from the depths and could feel Erik climbing from behind her. He stood closely behind her with his arms out to his sides, keeping her close enough to not escape.

Erik seemed obsessed with her trying to leave him, but she couldn't imagine leaving; not now.

There was a moment she felt she should try and run… early in their trip, she felt compelled to call out for someone and to run. But she knew he'd be able to catch her. Quite easily, too. Yet, even if she could outrun him, Christine felt an obligation to remain with him. He'd saved her life and stayed with her, after all.

He was watching her even now, studying her in the new light. Christine ignored the heavy feeling in her stomach and watched the water lapping along the river. The horizon offered a deep blue view with the current raging with white foam and bubbling against buoys and docks. Yet Erik was still heavily in her presence, watching her intently and waiting.

"It's beautiful," she said to remove the tension she felt.

"Yes," Erik said, his eyes not moving from her.

He stepped closer toward her, but Christine chose to ignore it. She kept intent on the calm his presence gave her and took in a deep breath of the salty water.

"I've never seen the river before," Christine admitted.

"Oh?" Erik said. "Then how did you get into the city, I wonder."

Christine smiled lightly and gave a quiet laugh.

"Well, I've been over the river before, I guess," she said. "But I've never seen it like this."

"Ah," Erik said.

Erik walked toward the edge of the concrete harbor, crouching down toward the river and stared into the murk. There was no reflection in the water; it was so distorted by the waves. Christine watched from the distance, contemplating her chances of escape if she made an attempt to run. But as Erik reached his hand down toward the water, she noticed how alone he looked. He looked perfectly content by himself, watching the water below pass by thoughtlessly. Christine reached for the clip holding her heels onto her feet and hesitated, seeing him heave a sigh in the brisk night air. She just had to remove those heels and then she could run…

But nobody should be so satisfied with such loneliness.

Christine believed the condition to mean that his friendless situation was what controlled his behaviors; that the staring, the fear of losing her, and the way he biddably met her every night was all pointing toward his solidarity. The fact was, she felt very lonely too. She released the latch from her heeled shoes and walked slowly to his side, resting down on the edge of the river herself, letting her feet dangle over the water. He looked to her, the water reflecting off of the black mask, and stared. He did not smile or seem to question; he was just watching her, as if she were blind.

Turning away from his heavy eyes, she wrung her fingers amongst each other, focusing on a fluid motion to keep her thoughts straight.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

Erik was quiet for a moment.

"Yes," he finally answered.

"Why did you do it?" she asked.

Christine had hoped he wouldn't know what she was referring to, but he seemed to immediately catch on. He continued to stare at her, his eyes growing hard beneath the slants of the mask now. He seemed either surprised that she would ask or afraid of where the question would lead.

"You don't deserve to be treated that way," he said harshly, as if speaking to the villain himself.

"Nobody deserves to be treated like that," Christine said distantly.

Erik rounded on her, heat burning from his eyes.

"He shouldn't have done that to you!" he snapped.

Christine drew back, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of fear. Erik sensed her unease and pulled away from her quickly, holding his body within his arms like a child. He looked away from Christine and huffed. Christine reached out and touched his arm gently, coaxing him out of his darkness. She smiled reassuringly and nodded her head. He was so alone… Erik hesitated, watching Christine as if her intentions were ill. After a moment, he grew large in his frame again and became more like himself. Christine felt safer, seeing his definite eyes full of confidence as he looked down toward her.

"No matter," he said with a smirk. "He'll never be able to do anything to you again."

Christine stared at him, questioning his meaning. Despite the fear that he'd planted inside of her by the way he made his comment, she felt secure. Erik was promising that he'd never bother her again, but within that bold promise was further protective qualities. Nothing seemed to even cross Erik's path, let alone disrupt it. She realized she'd always be safe in the presence of her guardian.

Christine found herself leaning toward him as her stomach churned. She saw the mask glistening close to her lips. It grew closer, when she realized it was she who was moving closer into him. Erik's eyes watched intently as she kept growing closer. Her mind was screaming for her to stop and to run, but she continued leaning until she finally was able to pull away before pressing her lips against the side of the mask.

"I'm sorry," she said without looking back to him.

"For what?" Erik asked.

Christine blushed.

Was she the only one who noticed how close they were sitting?

"Nothing," Christine lied.

She shivered.

Erik's arm timidly stretched around her shoulder, pulling her in close to his side. It was the first time he'd voluntarily touched Christine, aside from his walking her past the construction workers down the street from her apartment. She'd always imagined his actions during their walks all week was purely out of necessity; for her protection.

"Thanks," she said quietly.

Christine watched the water lap against the docks, foaming up and fizzing below her feet. The lights of New Jersey sitting across from them blinked dimly as fog rolled toward their dark shadows in the night. Christine focused purely on the view as she could feel his eyes still on her. She kept telling herself how beautiful the view looked; how breathtaking it was. It made her believe that was the reason her breathing was so hollow. They were the reason she was holding her breath. It was the night paired with the living souls across the river that made her stomach feel so uneasy. Then her mind cut in to reminding her how his fingers were firmly grasping onto her, as if they were claming her.

_It's just your imagination. Stop psyching yourself out,_ she kept telling thinking.

"Have you ever been outside of New York City?" she asked.

Anything to keep her mind moving forward.

"No," Erik said.

"Really?" Christine asked, surprised.

_This was working…_

"Why not?"

"I don't belong outside of the city," Erik said.

_He's so alone…_

"Why not?" Christine asked.

"Because the city is a pit," Erik said in a sigh. "It's a pool for the unwanted. While others travel the world to see what it's all about, only few actually belong here."

Christine was quiet, wondering if she too belonged.

"I think the city is nice," she said to herself.

"You do not belong," Erik said sadly.

"No?" Christine said.

"No," Erik confirmed. "You deserve much better than this horrible place."

Christine kept quiet. She didn't feel she deserved any better than he did. She was just as alone and just as afraid.

"What if you were to leave-?"

"I will never leave," Erik cut in.

"But if you did… where would you like to go?"

Erik thought a moment. He looked across the water, beyond the backdrop of the neighboring state, and toward the source of water flowing toward them.

"I'd like to see the Middle East," he said.

Christine nodded.

_A savage place_, she though. _But somehow fitting._

Christine tried to hold back a yawn.

"You're tired," Erik said.

"I'm fine," Christine insisted, watching the waves.

Erik shifted his arms and adjusted himself to keep Christine's head resting in the crook of his arm. He rocked her back and forth smoothly, his breath lulling to her like a song. Their breathing took similar rhythm, gliding her downward and shutting her eyes. She refused to let herself fall asleep like this… not when she had Raoul waiting for her.

_Oh, God,_ she thought.

"I have to go," Christine said, shitting up immediately.

"No," Erik said, reaching for her arm as she stood up.

"I need to go home," she repeated.

"You can't," Erik said.

He seemed regretful as he spoke, as if this were the last thing he'd wanted to happen.

"It's not you, I promise," Christine said. "I just… I need to—"

"You're not going," Erik said, his eyes growing dark again.

"Erik—"

"No!" Erik yelled.

He grabbed hold of her arms and caught her close to his chest. Christine struggled against him, writhing underneath his grip and beating against his chest. He fumbled for a moment, not fully focused on Christine's movements, when he grabbed a hold of her jaw and squeezed her cheeks. Christine smacked his hands and cried out, but as soon as her lips opened to utter a sound, his hand covered over it and a small round tablet hit against the back of her throat.

Christine panicked, trying to heave the small object back into her mouth, but the more she tried, the further it slid down her throat. Erik held her chin up in the air, coaxing the pill down as he looked sadly down to Christine, his eyes filled with tears.

"I'm sorry; I'm so sorry," he kept saying.

Christine began to cry as well, confused at what was happening to her. He'd let go of her jaw and slid his hand down to her neck, holding onto it and keeping her arms at her sides with the other. She was able to call out; she was free to speak, but she didn't. She simply cried and looked up to Erik in question. He kept shaking his head to her, the tears disappearing down his checks beneath the mask.

"I'm sorry," he kept mouthing to her.

Christine could not respond. She began to try and speak – to ask him why he'd do such a thing to her – but each phrase was caught in her throat. Had he really saved her life to have her for himself? Her struggle grew weak and her eyes began to water. The tears stopped, but she could feel a burn in the back of her eyes, closing them without her consent. This was all without her consent…

The waves crashed against the concrete harbor behind them, moaning and calling out to Christine, but she couldn't respond. Her eyes were fully closed and her mind was dizzy. She couldn't feel anything anymore and she couldn't see. All she could hear was the East River's roar and a distant apology in the night.


	8. Captive

_**Author's Note:** Happy I could get this one up as soon as I did :) I'm hoping the rest will come just as easily seeing how my work schedule has changed lately. Thank you all who reviewed and left comments about this story. I absolutely love getting feedback, even negative! It's the best learning experience. This chapter is on the shorter side, but it is a bit of a transitional. Hope all who read enjoy it._

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><p>The air was thick as Christine wrinkled her nose and turned to shake off the fatigue. She protested opening her eyes, for a small offering of light pierced her vision against the contrasting darkness that surrounded her. Her mind was groggy, filtered by a distant haze and plagued with memories she knew she had to recall. She gathered herself and battered her eyes open, searching for a dimmer light that was a candle set on a beside table next to her. Her eyes focused on the objects around her, eventually revealing a book, a pencil, the candle and a single rose inside of a water glass.<p>

Christine sat up instantly, letting the affect of the sedative from the night before rush over her before she could rest against the metal headboard behind her. She looked to her side, waiting to see the black figure in a mask staring at her, but all she could see was a wooden chair in the corner, unoccupied.

_Where is he?_

Her mind was on fire with rage. He'd tricked her and kidnapped her; how could she have been so stupid? Christine cursed herself for not running when she thought it best. Why didn't she listen? And yet, why did he do this?

The clouds within her mind slow parted, giving further details to her encounter, yet she could not see the man from the nightmare.

She was in the room she'd been in before, she knew that. The boards peering out from the partitions and the hangings of stucco from the ceiling were exactly as Christine remembered. The lingering smell of dust and the muggy feeling all around her were precise. As she looked toward her right, she could see the same window she'd remembered from that morning as well. It was exactly a week ago that she'd been in this same room, and now she was looking at the same window. It was the source of light that was blinding to her, yet now as she looked at it in contrast from the week before, it seemed thicker than she remembered.

Christine held her hand to her head and pressed against her temples, clenching her teeth to fight away the pain in her head. As it faded mildly, Christine threw the covers off of her legs and stood to inspect the window. She needed to get out of the abandoned room; she needed to get away before Erik returned.

She stumbled toward the light, running her hand along the wall as support as she passed through the threshold of what she now saw to be a makeshift kitchen. A laundry room's sink was set beneath the window with a small igloo icebox to the side of it. A tin trashcan was to the far side of her, set beside another doorway that led into a room that Christine could not see into. Towels were piled to the side of and inside of a hamper basket behind her. She scowled at the light coming from the window, angered that it was allowed the freedom that she was being denied.

With a heave, Christine pushed the cooler in front of the sink and used it as her stool as she leaned against the sink with her legs and pressed against the window. Her fists pounded on the glass, bouncing back at her with little effect. She hit the window harder, pressing her face closer to the glass and yelling into one of the cracks:

"Can anybody hear me?"

Her legs burned as they kept her weight up with the sink, digging into her shins.

"Hello?" she called.

Christine broke into a panic, suddenly feeling the tremble of her heart rattling against her chest.

"Somebody, please!" she screamed, banging at the window again.

The window was only partially above ground, with the level of the cement staring right back at Christine. She could see leaves and trash scattering down the pavement from the winds of winter, but there was not one shoe walking past her to be seen. The building across from her seemed rather close, as if there was little room for a person to walk between the two, but she had to try nonetheless.

"Help me, please!" she tried again.

"Nobody can hear you," a voice said from behind her.

Christine spun around and caught sight of Erik standing with his back against the blackened room. Christine's body began to shake as she saw him standing here; his eyes solemn and pleading.

Pushing off of the window, Christine turned and jumped off of the cooler, walking straight up to Erik with an accusing finger pointing right at him. He did not make any motion to retreat, but stood strong before her, trying to implement his power over her. She rounded her fingers into fists and began hitting at his chest, pounding against him angrily.

"Let me go," she said in a fit.

"No," Erik said, his eyes hardly able to look down on her.

She kept hitting him, hoping it would drive some sense into him. His eyes lowered onto her and glared. Christine could see heat building up, but she didn't care. No anger could out match hers.

"Let me go, Erik," she said, coming straight up beneath his weighty glance.

"No," he whispered this time.

Christine was shaking her finger at him, wagging it at him like an agitated cat. Tears spilled over her eyes, soaking her cheeks and drawing her eyes shut again. How she wished she could close them again and be gone. She wanted so badly to be out of the world and away on her own. The energy around her welled up inside of her, building inside of her stomach and expanding through her chest. Christine shook harder, biting her lip and feeling no shame in keeping her finger pointed directly at him.

"Why are you doing this?" she screamed at him.

Erik turned away, unable to give her an answer.

Christine turned away from him, holding her head in her hands. She stooped down over her knees and hid her face from him. Her teeth shuttered against each other and her body began to shake. She held onto her knees and buried her face into them. Erik shifted behind her – she could feel his movement – and seemed to try and decipher what to do. Yet she remained on the floor, trying to control herself enough to get out of her situation.

"Let me go," she said slowly into her knees.

"I'm sorry," Erik said quietly.

"No," Christine snapped, turning on her toes and looking up into his mask. "No, you're not."

Erik stood his ground, but remained shocked. He had a fear hidden beneath his mask, but Christine didn't think it was she that he was afraid of. He seemed afraid of the idea of Christine; of her accusing him, or maybe even just being present with him. Yet he tried to shield that the best he could and the only way he knew: with coldness.

Christine remained on the floor, her hands holding her up with her knees scrapping against the cement floor. Her shaking was receding and her eyes remained fixed into the slants of the mask, staring at him just as he did the previous night.

"You can't keep me here forever," she said in a near whisper.

"No, I can't," he said sadly, as if the thought had crossed his mind.

She wanted to scream at him more. To stand up and continue hitting him and beating him until he grew tired of her and threw her out. It seemed now the only logical thing to do with his stubbornness.

"Two weeks," he muttered quietly.

Her eyes turned to questioning as her shaking receded. His words seemed truthful and even within his amber eyes, she could see him asking for her cooperation. He was so strong, yet his loneliness made him so weak. His body looked tired, though he remained straight and powerful in his shoulders.

"I don't understand," Christine said.

"Two weeks, and then you'll be free," he said.

His voice softened, pleading for some unknown miracle. He was holding his hands out, clasped together, as if begging for God to allow much a gift to be granted to him, but Christine needed to go. She couldn't remain with a man who'd deceived her in such a way. She needed to go, but he was begging her.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Erik took a cautious step toward her, offering his hands out at his sides, as if inviting her into his embrace. Christine shied away, and he too cowered backwards. He grabbed at his arms and churned his lips together in thought. He seemed so lost in his mind, as if he'd forgotten that she was even there. He took in a deep breath of air and turned to her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You stay here – with me – and you will learn to no longer fear me."

"Oh, Erik," Christine said, shaking her head in pity. "I don't fear you…"

"You do," Erik said sternly. "You try and hide it, but I can see it in your eyes."

Christine looked away. She knew he was right, but she never thought it was so obvious. She didn't want to fear him, but there was something dangerous about him… like he was somehow associated with the man who tried to rape her. Everything was connected to that night, yet he was somehow different. He was not evil like the man who could have ended it all for her that night, but there was still some demon lurking within his soul. Christine just didn't know why she thought like that.

"Your continued association with me," Erik continued, "shows you're trying to overcome your fear, but after two weeks, you will see past it."

"And then you'll let me go?" Christine asked.

"Yes."

Her legs were tired from keeping herself up from the ground. Her weight was pushing against them and had made them grow very weak. Yet she continued to keep herself on the floor, underneath his gaze; looking up toward him.

If she stayed, she would be living under the roof of a man who'd stolen her in the night and drugged her. She'd be living with a man who hid his face and kept to himself. She owed him many things for saving her, but did she truly owe him the life he'd saved. Yet his fascination with her seemed so deep, perhaps all he wanted was her full attention. He seemed harmless, after she'd seen how lonely he could look. They seemed more similar now than ever. Christine longed to have the comfort of solitude as it seemed he'd given himself in the small room they were in. She wished to be alone with only one who would protect her, yet why wasn't it with Raoul that she'd wished to be with?

_Raoul…_

How could she keep forgetting? He was waiting for her last night… what was he thinking now? How could she explain herself if she were to return? As the weight of her problems pushed against her, she began to think only for him. Who knows what Erik would have done if she disagreed to his proposal, but she knew she had to get out. Two weeks, and she would be free. She could go to Raoul again. She could make her amends.

"Alright," Christine said through her teeth.

Erik nodded, as if he was surprised by her acquiescing to his deal. He stretched his hand out toward her and gestured for her, but she looked up and stared at him with aversion. His hand remained stretched, but she continued staring into his eyes and glaring. She was angry with him, and he was denying it. He gestured one last time, and Christine rose to her feet on her own accord. She stood as tall as she could and turned with a whip of her hair. She knew she'd have to make her feelings quite clear to him. As she turned, she stomped toward the room she'd emerged out of and slammed the door shut.

She imagined Erik's body tensing outside of the door; shocked and devastated. But was that really what she wanted to do to him?

As quickly as the door pounded against the knobs, Christine was running to the bed and falling onto the sheets, her eyes growing dim with tears. She curled herself up into a small ball and buried her face into her arm and the covers, pushing her face down as deep as the bed's springs would allow. She began to weep, letting every emotion from the past week rush out of her: the experience in the alley, her recovery in this very room, her gallery, her artwork, her walks home each night, her boyfriend, her being abducted, her stupidity…

Christine remained on the bed, sobbing and cursing herself for everything because she knew it was all her fault. If only she had stayed on the correct path home. If only she had never allowed Erik to walk with her. If only she had never grown so afraid of the affections of men in the first place… She'd be safe now and she's only have Raoul to comfort her and protect her. As innocent as he was, he'd be her guardian and protector. She'd no longer have to wander alone in her mind. She'd be completely safe.

If only.


	9. 11:48 pm, Monday

_**Author's Note:** This chapter was much more difficult for me to write... I felt like I'd get a good start at it, but then I would change things around again. I also felt I had a problem with repetition occurring throughout the chapter. I'm still concerned this happens too much, but I knew I should stop nit picking about it and just get the chapter up because I know I've been putting it off for too long now. As a form of apology for the wait, I've doubled the length of the chapter! Not really intentionally, but that was just how it worked out. Lucky for you (I hope!). Next chapter is in the works as far as layout and hopefully with classes finished for the summer and life looking a bit more steady, it won't take as long next time to update. Fingers crossed... _

_I had a couple people mention they want to hear from Erik's perspective... as of right now, I don't want that to happen. Mainly because I am trying to work on the mystery of him because even Christine doesn't understand him. Not that anyone will ever be able to fully understand Erik, I want to wait to give more details on his past (actually, next chapter is when I will start delivering what he is about). I have thought over putting his perspective, and I might do a short chapter giving his thoughts on events in the next few installments. It wasn't originally planned, but I do agree that it would be interesting to see things how he does in this new modernized version. _

_Anyway, I have gone on too long! I do hope you enjoy this chapter and while it may come off as a bit bi-polar, it is all within reason :) Thank you all so much for reading; I really appreciate each and everyone one of you so much! All my love,_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>Christine fell asleep on the bed without cover. She was sprawled across the top of the sheets, her face buried within the crook of her arm and her eyes swollen from tears. She'd sobbed and cursed herself, eventually falling asleep and waking again to dwell on her thoughts. She tried to ignore her emotions and simply make sense of it all. Possibilities ran through her mind more quickly than tears could gather, but all seemed to lack probability.<p>

Just as quickly as she woke, she was asleep and then awake again. Regularity was thrown to waste and her schedule was removed completely. When she was resting, she would avoid comfort, but instead continued lying on top of the covers. When she awoke, she laid on her back, watching the candle flicker, the rose wilt or the ceiling peal.

She couldn't remember how many times she'd slept and waken now, but as she rose this time, she felt weak with hunger. How long had she been locked away in that room? Last thing she'd eaten was a sandwich leftover from her work early Friday before the gallery. What day was it now? Christine wanted so badly to keep her pride and remain in the room, but Erik had played his cards wisely; at least that's how Christine imagined it. She was still furious that he felt he could imprison her like this, but she just couldn't let herself begin to imagine why.

Any woman with a sense of intuition would be able to figure it out, but Christine remained blind to the idea. He was not like the other men who tried to make themselves known to her; he didn't treat her like an object to be won over. He was more like a spiritual force that looked after her. She felt as if he may have been sent to save her the night of her incident. But now… what did it all mean?

Christine rose from the bed and seemed to glide to the door, her frame felt so light from lack of nourishment. She hesitated before turning the knob, swallowing her pride and fear in one gulp and emerging toward the single slant of light from the window above the sink. Unlike last time, she could feel Erik's presence in the room just past her vision, but if her imagination was accurate, she could tell he was alert and waiting for her to approach. She gladly would oblige, if she could be promised sustenance in return.

The room ahead of her was black, as she originally recalled. She knew she couldn't just walk through on her own because she had no idea what she could run into. She imagined it just as empty as the other two rooms, but who was to say? She peered into the silence, hoping Erik would greet her, but she heard nothing.

"Erik?"

No reply, but a quiet creek of wood. Christine's eyes went straight for the noise and noticed a dim glow, like two vague embers in the night. She stared at them and they seemed to stare back. They were still and persistent, fixated in one spot and level to each other. Then, they disappeared.

Christine strained, trying to find them again, but now Erik was emerging in front of her from the darkness. She looked up as his figure went from a black shadow to a distantly recognizable form. Beneath the shade of his mask, she searched for his amber eyes, breathing a light air of relief in finding them so quickly.

His eyes didn't look to hers as they normally did, but seemed fixed on Christine's hollow cheeks.

"You must be hungry," he said, trying to cover the concern in his voice.

Christine nodded slowly, ashamed to be giving in.

Erik motioned for her to wait.

He passed her into the kitchen she stood in and stopped at the igloo ice chest. He dug his hands into the pool of cold water and emerged with a pack of dripping hot dogs.

"This okay?" he asked.

Christine's stomach turned just looking at them in raw form.

"Yes," she said, her lips trembling with the thought of nutrients.

Erik gestured for Christine to follow him and she obeyed immediately. Despite wanting to put up a fight with her current predicament, she knew she needed to eat.

He began pulling newspapers from a pile and crossed to a tin trash can he drug into the middle of the dark room. With a thud, the papers were thrown into the bottom and a match followed them in. After reaching into the bottom of the can and arranging the kindling wood beneath the papers, the room was illuminated with a blaze. Erik stuck two hot dogs on stretched out clothes hangers that had clearly been used for this purpose before. Erik handed Christine a dog and demonstrated by example. Christine stuck hers in immediately, just to get closer to being able to eat it.

It hardly seemed cooked through, but she removed it from the fire and began eating it anyway. As she finished, she looked over to see Erik staring at her. She nearly forgot he was even there, she was so transfixed by her task. He held up the bag and nodded to her.

"Another?"

Christine didn't want to ask because she'd assumed he was short on supplies and funds to produce more. She was still hungry and the offer was given, so she couldn't pass it up. She nodded slowly. Erik poked another through the wire and stuck it back into the fire. She allowed him more time to keep it in the flames this time, giving it a chance to fully cook.

The fire crackled around the hot dogs, popping and sending embers through the air. Christine could see Erik's form more clearly from across the trashcan with the bright illuminant in the room. She took the time to look around, seeing the room was just as empty as she'd expected with only a wooden chair surrounded by candles on the floor in the corner. A pile of overused books were just outside of the circle, stacked in two piles that nearly went higher than the chair itself.

The fire popped loudly.

Erik glanced over to Christine every so often, catching her eye and looking away quickly.

Christine gestured to Erik for the hotdog and he passed it to her. She took it from him and stuck it back in the fire, spinning it in her fingertips on the wire.

"Do you like living like this?" she asked suddenly.

She wasn't sure if she meant it as a serious question or an insult, but Erik took it as the latter. His eyes seemed to tear into her, yet he remained cool.

"I live in a manner necessary to my survival," Erik said.

"And how is that?"

"By remaining to myself," he spat.

"By freeloading," Christine muttered in a retort.

Erik glared at her. She could feel a dangerous wrath building around them.

"I live how I must," Erik said quietly.

Christine shook her head, a bit annoyed with the idea, but she didn't want to cause a problem. She didn't know Erik enough to really place judgment. That seemed to be the thing that troubled her the most; she didn't know him enough. Yet here she was, locked up inside of a basement with him and she was just now beginning to come up with questions for him. The trouble was she lacked the courage to ask them.

Erik pulled his hotdog from the fire. With a huff, he blew the smoke off and took a quick bite before letting it cool. Christine remained quiet as she pulled hers out of the fire as well.

After hers cooled, she quickly finished it off before pulling her legs into the chair and wrapping her arms around them for warmth. Even with the fire just feet away from her, Christine began to notice the chill around them. She tried to hide the shaking, but Erik's attention was drawn to her easily and she hid her quivering jaw behind her knees.

Erik took his final bite quickly and stood from his wooden chair opposite from Christine. The chair scooted across the cement floor with a screech, driving Christine's eyes closed. He was angered and crossed to the chair surrounded by the books. Christine cocked her head to the side and watched as he grabbed one of the books off of the top of a stack and looked into it.

"I trust your room is comfortable; you've spent so much time in it," Erik said coolly.

She didn't want to start a fight. She didn't have the energy to argue with him, and she knew she probably couldn't win, either. Instead, she stood from the chair, allowing a squeal from her own end, and looked across to him sternly.

"Yes, it's fine," Christine said. "If you don't mind, I'm going to go back to it."

Without approval, she left the room and quickened her pace as she crossed the threshold from the room Erik was in. Christine broke into a run until she reached the door to the bedroom. As her hand gripped the knob, she flung it open and slammed it behind her.

She didn't want to start a fight. But she didn't want to spend the next two weeks being prodded at either.

* * *

><p>Christine emerged from the room later. She didn't know how much later, but it was quite some time that had passed. The loneliness was getting to her and she now knew she was nothing like Erik in the sense of solitude; she couldn't image living completely alone for so long.<p>

She found Erik in the same spot she left him in, only now he was sitting in the chair by the books. The same book he had opened was resting in his lap and he appeared to be writing inside of it. Christine stood in the doorway of the room for a moment, watching Erik for a change now that he was too preoccupied to notice her. The fire lit the room enough to illuminate Erik's actions while still keeping her in the shadows of the neighboring room. His leg was propped up on the chair, with the other stretched far out beside a flickering candle. He stopped writing and held the pencil up to his lip beneath the fold of the mask, tapping it to a rhythm as he looked down to what Christine saw now was a separate sheet of paper.

Christine rested her head against the entrance's arch, taking in the atmosphere around her. Though cold, the fire offered a light in the darkness, not only from the room, but within her bemused mind. So much had happened within the last week and it centered all on the man sitting before her. What did it all mean? As the fire popped to her side, she knew she didn't want to spend the rest of her time angered by Erik. It made the time pass so slowly and she knew despite what he was doing to her, she could find peace with it. She just needed to get through the two weeks …

Deep in her thought, she had drifted from watching Erik and now saw she was the one being observed once again. She dropped her arms from the arch and stood straight before him, looking down to the ground and lacing her fingers together. His glance didn't last long, for Erik turned back to his writing.

Christine crossed the room and sat before the circle of candles, peeking into his lap to see small, scribbled writing across the paper. The majority of writing was placed in lines in the middle of the page, but around the section of lines were arrows, scribbles, cross-outs and notes written even smaller than the main text. Christine could just make out the letters of the main section of writing, but she couldn't understand what it said. It looked like it was in a different language.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

Erik paused, tapping the pencil against the paper in his rhythm again, not looking up to address her.

"Poetry," he said in a muffled tone.

"Oh," Christine said, her curiosity sparked even more.

Erik continued tapping until an idea seemed to spark in his mind. He wrote it down feverishly and then stopped and began to tap more. It seemed what he wrote was not good enough, because he crossed two words out and made notes to the side.

"Is it in another language?" Christine asked.

"French," Erik said.

It seemed her asking during one of his moments of lacking concentration helped the conversation along.

"Are you fluent?"

"Yes, actually," Erik said.

"I took French in high school," Christine recalled. This seemed to spark Erik's interest enough to bring his attention away from the paper "I hardly remember anything, though."

Erik turned in the chair and stared at her on the floor. His lips were stern as always, but he seemed to be trying to figure something out as he looked into her eyes. He was trying to discover her motive, but really she had none; she was just trying to be more friendly than she had acted before.

"Do you speak any other languages?" Christine asked, trying to keep the conversation from dying.

"German, Arabic and Swedish," Erik said simply, as if it were no feat to accomplish. "And I'm working on Mandarin."

"Oh, wow," Christine said, suddenly feeling overachieved.

She hardly knew how to react. She wondered how he could come to learn so many languages, but still remain so private. 'Living how he must,' he'd referred to it as. She wondered what it meant.

"May I?" she asked, pointing toward the paper.

He looked at her a bit offended and pulled the book with the paper slightly closer to her chest. Christine gestured again and clarified.

"I'd just like one sheet," she said, indicating her desire to use the paper and not to read his work. She wouldn't be able to understand it anyway.

Erik watched her for a moment and then ripped three pages out of the notebook, handing them over to Christine, followed by a pen.

"Thank you," she said as she rose to her feet and crossed to the chair directly in front of the fire.

Christine rested the paper on her knee and began sketching out circles, spheres and ovals. The pen rested against the surface of the paper and flicked across the page, covering it with a blue ink that started as a jumble of nothing, but eventually connected and shaded into visible images. The paper didn't reflect Christine's previous fashion of artwork, nor did it look anything like her former masterpiece from her gallery, but looked entirely different from anything she'd ever made before. Though she was more adapted to using paint, her knack to use the pen grew as she continued transforming the blue lines across a white sheet into an image of two figures joined in darkness.

Erik's presence was hardly noticed as she continued tilting her head with the paper, biting her lip as she poured everything she was questioning onto the page. His hands were holding onto the back of her chair, gripping onto the wooden posts as he leaned in over her slightly, daring to watch closer. Her shoulder burned with his heat, but she pretended it was the fire as she forced her attention to finishing, tapping the pen against the paper in her own rhythm just as Erik did for his writing.

As she finished, she brushed her hand across the paper as she did by habit when she sketched with a pencil. She held it out in the air for a better look from the light of the fire in the trashcan.

Erik shifted behind her and she turned to see his approval. She turned directly to see his hand so close to her shoulder, just like it was the night he abducted her. It was so close to grabbing onto her and pulling her in tightly to his strong form. The idea was both entrancing and terrifying; she couldn't stop staring at his hand.

He must have noticed her tension, because Erik removed both of his hands from the chair and dropped them at his side. He made a slow step backwards to give Christine her space.

Christine looked back up into his eyes, feeling a quiver pass her lips in awe.

"What is it?" Erik asked, looking down at Christine and not at the drawing.

Christine gathered herself and pulled the paper close to her shoulder, turning in the chair to present it to Erik.

"This here is me," she said, pointing to the smaller of two flowers alone in a strange sort of garden, retarded by flames. "And this is you."

The room grew too quiet for Christine's liking. Erik stared at the two flowers wilting in the heat, breathing steadily and heavy. The moment passed so slowly and Christine was growing afraid that she may have offended him.

Erik reached out and grabbed the paper from her and walked across to the vacant wall behind her. She turned and watched as Erik ripped a piece of the top of the drawing. Christine closed her eyes, fearing he'd ripped the entire work in half, but then saw him hook the small rip he'd created over a nail protruding from the wall. He gestured to it hanging on the wall and gave a soft smile.

Christine hardly saw him smile.

Christine smiled back to him shyly and turned back to the fire.

"What time is it?" she asked suddenly.

Erik walked back to his chair across from her.

"11:48 pm," he said. "Monday."

Christine nodded, glad that he had offered her the day of the week. That was the question she truly wanted to ask, but she was afraid to even try.

"I'm sure you're not even tired," Erik said, a bit amused.

Christine smirked.

"No, not at all," she said.

It was her fault for being stubborn, perhaps. But she was the one having to pay for it.

"You take the bed," she said as a form of atonement.

"No," Erik said. "The room is for you."

"No, please," Christine urged. "I'd feel better knowing you were getting a good rest."

"No," Erik said sternly.

His tone was clear enough; Christine would not be pushing the matter anymore.

She nodded slowly and pressed a deep sigh from her lips. It wasn't like anybody she'd ever known to be so persistent on her comfort. It was flattering that he would be so inclined to please her. Even with the facts looming over her head constantly, Christine couldn't help but feel comforted as his stare set on her cheek again.

He was clearly looking out for her, and it was obvious that his affections for her were present, even in Christine's blinded mind.

"May I ask you something?" Christine asked.

Erik nodded, not taking his eyes off of her.

"Do you promise to tell me the truth?" Christine asked.

"Perhaps."

Christine took in a deep breath of air in preparation.

"The man," she started slowly, carefully treading into the topic. "From the night in the alley—"

"He can't hurt you again," Erik assured immediately.

"Is he…?"

Erik was tall in his seat. His eyes didn't falter as he looked at her protectively, but Christine could tell by the air he gave that their conversation was growing very serious.

"Yes," he said coldly.

She closed her eyes and shuddered. The answer she knew she would get was finally reviled. His answer could have meant so many things, but she knew exactly what it meant.

"Did you—?"

There was no answer, but Christine knew.

"Oh, God…"

"I did it for your protection," Erik retorted.

"But death?" Christine asked.

A tear crossed over her lashes, staining her cheek. She didn't try to hide it.

Erik killed the man.

He was washed away from the world forever and it was all because of Christine. Erik had said it before and he truly meant it; he would never be able to harm her again.

She covered her mouth with her trembling hand and tried to maintain herself. The truth was, she was glad the man was dead. He was one less person to fear getting hold of her in the night. It was one person in the world that was a major threat to Christine's already weakened state, and he was eliminated so easily by the man in the mask. Erik didn't even look ashamed that he'd killed him.

"I did what I had to," Erik said. "Who knows what he could have done to you."

"He may have done nothing," Christine tried, unsure why she was making the attempt.

"Perhaps," Erik said, "but who really knows?"

His tone was incredibly serious and his eyes bore into her. He pressed her with his trying eyes, urging her to see his logic, but she was still so frightened. To think that she was not only in the presence of a killer, but locked beneath ground with him was hard to handle.

"I think I am going to lie down for a while," she said.

"Very well," Erik said.

Christine stood and began to make her way for the bedroom when Erik reached out and grabbed for her hand. Christine paused and looked back to their locked grip, trying to decide if she was accepting of it. His confidence helped her feel strong enough to continue walking on, but she couldn't erase the idea that these same hands had assisted in somebody's death.

Erik gestured for her and led Christine through the room with the ice chest. He led her delicately along, going from the grip of a madman to the gentle lift of a breeze. He pulled the door to the bedroom open on its hinges and swept his arms across the doorway, ushering Christine into the room. He kept a tight hold on her hand as she turned to face him in the threshold.

Erik pulled her hand up into the air, slowly leaning his head down and lingering over her delicate touch. He hesitated, waiting for any sign of approval before brushing his lips against her flesh with a light kiss. Christine felt a thrill rise from her hand up into her shoulder and through her heart. His eyes were dangerous as they looked onto her, piercing with their yellow glow. But behind the danger, Christine knew she was safe.

She smiled wearily.

His fingers unlaced out of hers and dropped her hand to her side. He assisted her in closing the door behind her. As soon as the latch hit on the hinges, Christine turned and rested her back against the door, holding her head back against the wooden panel. All of the fear she had kept hidden came in shaking fits as the tears rushed over her eyes. She was safe, but the price of her safety was a threat in itself.

As her breathing calmed and her tears withdrew, a calming peace swept over Christine, drawing her breath to a steady beat, like the tap of Erik's pencil against the paper. The man she'd secretly feared throughout the week was removed. Permanently. She only had one other man she feared, but he was well outside of the reaches of her in her new home in the city. Even with the fear of Erik's murder fresh inside of her mind, she knew all along this was the truth. She knew Erik had ridded her of this fear since the first night she'd spent in this very room. The only problem was she now needed to overcome a fear that she knew would haunt her much longer than the man from the alley. The fear that would keep her locked in the basement for the next two weeks: her fear of Erik.


	10. Drawings on the Wall

_**Author's Note:** I'm actually surprised at how quickly I got this finished... and it wasn't that quick. There was a point that I struggled to actually write what I did, but once I got past that one point, I sort of flew through it in a night. One detail that I am still not sure about even adding is Erik's writing. He'd write ten times better than I could, but I also wanted to get the general idea of what he would say down. Just imagine what I wrote, but WAY more awesome and original. Thank you all for your wonderful comments and encouragement throughout the story! As of now, I don't see an end in sight, because I really am having a great time writing this piece. Though I do have another idea up my sleeve, I will not start that until I am at least almost done with this... between this, my (almost completed) OUAT fic and an original fiction I still need to get back to, I can't add another to my plate, especially with my work being so busy now that summer season is started. _

_I really hope that you enjoy this section... it was tough, but I hope it was worth it. I'll assure you now, you will get more on what happens at the end in a following chapter. My plan is to have one small chapter in Erik's POV after this leading up to this moment, and then I will detail what happens immediately after the drop off of this chapter. :) _

_One final note... I've wanted to try this for a while and even started outlining, but... I've always wanted to attempt a screenplay for a very faithful to Leroux screenplay. Even if it is just as a fun project, I've wanted to tackle the order of the story in which Leroux wrote, as well as adding those little details that people love to see in movies. What do you think? I'd totally blog about it all, too. Anyway, that is just another huge project to add to my list, but thought it was worth mentioning. Who knows, maybe a group of phans could get together and make a small film to circulate around? *shrug* anyway, enough rambling out of me. Without further ado..._

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

><p>Christine emerged early the next morning, more fully rested than she'd cared to be. The moment she awoke, she could sense something in the room was different. She'd spend enough time in that room to have a full understanding of it, yet as she looked toward the chair that Erik had once sat in, he was not there. Instead, there was the outline of a black mass. Christine sat up and tried to focus her eyes enough to identify it, but it was no use. Cautiously, she stepped out of the bed and approached the chair, watching as the shape begin to make sense. It was a tote bag – Christine's bag – black on the outside with a red bandana print on the inside. Christine pulled the bag over onto the bed, closer to the candle flickering on the bedside table, and pulled the items out.<p>

There was a great deal of her clothes rolled into the bag, stacked and piled to provide the most space possible. Each article of clothing he'd picked out was well matched, like he already knew what it was she liked to pair together. His sense of fashion for a woman fit her perfectly. Amongst the clothes, he also packed socks, two pairs of shoes, hair accessories, brushes, a dryer, a tooth brush with paste, and her favorite cross necklace. She pulled the necklace out of the zip lock baggie and examined it, surprised that Erik would have known to grab it. She knew he had to be responsible for the bag, after all. Christine nearly forgot about the necklace. She didn't wear it during her gallery. She wasn't sure why she didn't at least keep it on her, because she normally always had it on. It was a gift from her father years ago, and ever since she had kept it close to her. It was the first thing she put out of her delivered items.

After finding a shirt and jeans to change into, Christine looked down at the black cocktail dress she still wore from her night at the gallery. It was all she had and she'd been living in it for four days straight. She knew it was a goner as far as future wear, so she threw it onto the bed and slowly emerged from the bedroom. She could see the sun was still blazing red from the parting with the night just from the small sliver of light coming from the partial underground window in the room with the ice chest. She wasn't afraid to step out of the room this morning. Christine felt revived as she entered the far room that was normally so dark, seeing that a few embers were burning inside of the tin trashcan. To the side, Christine saw two plates full of eggs, sausage, bacon and potatoes with Erik staring at her through the darkness.

"For you," Erik said gesturing to the food before she could say anything.

"Thanks," Christine said, impressed at the display of food before them.

She sat and placed the plate in her lap, savoring the mixture of smells and textures. It was a real feast the two of them were sharing, and she didn't think she would see it during her time with Erik. She didn't care to comment on it, though. Christine was too mesmerized with the food to even talk about anything. She was perfectly content with the sound of plastic scrapping against the paper plates and their shadows against the diffused lighting.

"I see you found your bag," Erik said.

Christine continued cutting at one of the sausages.

"I retrieved a few of your belongings so that your stay here will be more comfortable," Erik said after taking the last bite on his plate.

Christine looked up to him, uncertain what to say. She looked down at the change of clothes and nodded for confirmation.

There was the obvious question of how he was able to get into her apartment to collect these items in the first place, but then there was the thought of when he had left her alone in the first place. Had anybody from the outside world been looking for her? Was she given up on? How did he know what she'd need? Everything was filling her mind, but all she could do was nod her head and stare right back at him.

"Thank you," she said slowly.

"If you'd like, there is a running shower I can escort you to as well."

Christine thought of the wrinkled dress lying on the bed in the abandoned room. She thought how grimy it looked even in the darkness, then imagined how she must look. Any trace of make-up she once wore was surely gone, she knew despite the absence of mirrors. Her hair was knotting and stuck to the top of her hair, in desperate need of attention, yet as she looked back to Erik to acknowledge his offer, he still stared at her like she was the most enchanting of beauties to behold. Christine blushed and turned away from his gaze, holding her hand to her lips.

"Yes," she said, still managing to nod. "I'd like a shower."

They traveled together to a small communal restroom later that afternoon, where Christine was allowed to fully freshen up. She hardly took note of where they were going, she spent so much time watching Erik as he led her. The same went for their return back to the basement dwelling as her hair hung soaked and dripping down her back in the winter chill. She accepted Erik's offer to shield her against the cool with his coat, tucked beneath his arm.

Their return back to the shelter brought a strange relief over Christine as she immediately made herself comfortable on the chair she'd been using beside the tin trashcan. The fire inside was extinguished, but Erik immediately went to the pile of wood and paper in the corner and got to work building a fire.

On one of his trips between the corner and the trashcan, he paused at Christine's side and held out a sketch book filled with clean white paper and a set of colored pencils. Christine looked up from her locked stare at her knees and drew her hand to her lips in surprise. She looked over the rainbow of freshly sharpened pencils and crisp clean papers, her mouth parting with a hint of tears filling behind her eyes. They were nothing special compared to the tools she was used to crafting with, but this small gesture of kindness, though inferior to what he had already done for her, set her over the edge.

She took the items and held them in her lap, her lips trembling as she fought back a tear.

"Thank you," she managed.

"I'd love for you to fill that wall," he said, gesturing toward the single lined sheet of paper that was still hanging across from them.

Christine looked over her shoulder to him, smiling weakly as a chill ran through her spin. She nodded graciously, accepting the challenge as she opened the pack of colored pencils and turned to the first fresh page.

Ideas flowed through her mind, colliding against one another as she tried to sort out the best way to manage everything she was feeling. From such a simple way of living, so many emotions were building inside of her. She scribbled notes on the backside of the cover to the sketch book, legible enough to read, but probably only to Christine's eyes. After clumping words together and drawing lines with small symbols along the cardboard page, she was able to organize her mind's jumble.

The first drawing took some time, not being complete until later that afternoon, but once Christine got going, she was able to answer questions in her mind with her own answers; those that she wished to hear. All of what she wondered about Erik, the abandoned shelter, and herself were sketched in a language only she could understand, yet she was praised each time by Erik with a gentle graze against her cheek with his cold, long fingers and another posting on the wall. By the end of the night, she'd completed four drawings, and by the next day, she'd finished another seven.

They begin to scatter across the wall, taking what was once a blank space to fill it with her stories and emotions. On moments of silence between the two of them, Erik would get up and walk down the row of drawings, pausing in front of each one for some time to try and find more to Christine's story hidden inside. Erik's ability to decipher what Christine was depicting grew stronger as the drawings covered the wall. Erik was always made as something dark, mysterious and foreboding, but as their time together continued, he grew to be less of either of those, at least in person. But in her art, Christine always made him as something more like a shadow. He was darkness itself.

One day, Erik was going over Christine's new pieces he'd pinned against the wall. The wall was covered and he was now ready to start filling onto the next wall over, but Christine had realized she had only two pages left inside of the sketch book. She wanted to make the next two especially meaningful. Erik stopped at the last drawing she had completed and stared at it for quite some time. Christine watched as he stood in front of the piece involving the burial of a feather beneath a pile of bones.

"What do you see when you look at those drawings?" Christine asked from her chair by the fire.

Erik didn't turn to address her.

Christine realized she trusted his opinion greatly when it came to this matter because she admired his honesty.

"I see you."

Though hardly surprised, Christine was taken back by his response. What did he mean? What did he see in her artwork and how did it embody her? She wasn't trying to put emphasis on portraying herself, but more her feelings. If anything, Erik was shown more in her artwork than she was.

"What do you see of me?" Christine ventured cautiously.

"You're much more honest about yourself in your artwork," Erik said.

"Oh?"

"This piece here," Erik said, pointing to the bones and the feather. "You always make yourself weak."

Christine knew she was weak, and chose to portray what she saw as herself that way. She had been fragile for so long now, but she was surprised at how easily Erik caught on to it. Nobody in her department had noticed.

"Why do you think that, Christine?"

Christine let her silence take the moment away, removing any more talk about what Christine felt about herself. The answer remained unanswered as she turned away from the drawings and went back to staring into the fire, with the sketch book resting closed in her lap.

Their time continued to be spent with more drawings, Erik's writing, poetry readings and insights. Christine discovered that Erik was quite smarter than she'd expected and was impressed to learn that he dropped out of high school.

"Why?" Christine asked.

"Because I hated it," Erik said coldly.

This was Christine's queue to drop the subject, so she moved onto his family, which he took even more harshly.

"I have none," Erik seemed to breathe.

"None at all?" Christine tried.

"No."

"I'm sorry," Christine tried, truly pitying his situation.

He looked to her and shook his head, urging her not to fret on his behalf.

"It's better like this," he said.

Time continued to drag on slowly, but Christine had grown thankful for this. She began to enjoy her time with Erik. She was beginning to understand what his solitude was like and thrived off of it. She took the loneliness she put into her drawings and immersed herself in it on the outside, taking in the heavy sent of the dust filled room with ashy filtering around them, and the weight of wondering if she'd ever be discovered. It was a thrill in itself waiting to know if she would ever be found out, but in her new state of thinking, she didn't want to be.

Erik made her safe. He removed all of the anxieties of the world around her and gave her what she truly craved: purpose. Erik gave her an array of ideas to fulfill her artistic needs as well as made her feel needed. Aside from feeling meant only for him, there were no more obligations. She didn't have to please anybody else in the world because they no longer existed. For so long, Christine had just wanted to do what she loved and stick to those she trusted. In the strangest of ways, Erik was catering to that exact criterion.

She still had much to learn about him, but she was a willing student and craved the knowledge. Though the two weeks were soon coming to an end, Christine didn't intend to leave Erik. With the way she was feeling, she knew she needed to learn more. The only problem was Christine didn't know how to get this information across to him.

"Two days," Erik said as Christine emerged one morning.

How could she forget? She'd been counting the days and it had been a full 12 now. Two days left, indeed, were all that remained. But what would happen after these next two days?

Christine remained silent and took her normal spot in the wooden chair beside the fire. She didn't want it to end because she was afraid of how it would change. How could she make things stay the way they were?

"Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you," Christine said.

She was hungry, but she didn't want to waste her time with meals.

"Very well," Erik said as he crossed to his corner surrounded by books.

He opened to a page in his personal journal, where he kept his works and began to scribble away on a clean sheet of paper. From the beginning, Christine had known Erik to use the same papers repeatedly, adding on notes and details to one sheet of paper before cluttering another page with similar effect. He didn't even stop to tap the pen, he was so enthralled on his work that he didn't notice Christine leave her seat by the fire to sit at his feet and look onto the book in his lap.

"Are you on the final draft?" Christine asked.

Erik looked up, surprised by her being beside him so suddenly, but hardly showing it. He smirked at her comment and put the pencil back to the paper for some time, leaving Christine's comment unanswered. He wrote quickly in his sloppy penmanship and hunched over the page until he stopped suddenly and put the pencil down on the floor. It rolled toward Christine, running into her knee. She looked up to Erik as he looked upon her now attentively.

"Never a final draft," Erik said after a moment.

"Oh?" Christine asked.

"That would restrict the ability for growth," Erik said.

Christine looked to the notebook set on his lap. He'd closed the cover over his ring finger, keeping the spot easily accessible, but still covering the writing he had just produced so quickly. His hand ran over the cover, as if protecting it from being broken into, but with a heavy sigh, he flipped the book open back to the page he held the spot of and rested it back in his lap.

"I've been working on this for a while," he said slowly. "but these past couple weeks, I've been especially hard at work with it."

_So this was what he was working on this whole time._

"And you just finished it?" Christine asked.

"No," Erik said, pulling the page up close to look over. "I've just begun."

Christine turned her head to the side, unsure what Erik meant. Rather than explain himself, Erik turned the book up to his vision and took in a steady breath before reading:

_Her beauty matched the sky; it was clear she was from the heavens. Sent to this earth for another, she has found me by error. Her lips, envied by all heavenly beings, make even other angels turn green in envy, risking their wings and place amongst the clouds. My angel longs to embrace her demons, but holds me instead, a demon far greater than those she fears most. Each stare through my eyes brings her closer to looking through the devil's gates, but she cannot resist; she needs the sins I deal. For I, a demon, aberrant offers are never apprehended, but for the purity of an angel, she risks damnation with every touch of my hand. As we cross to an afterlife, I shall regret null, but she will regret it all. The beautiful creature holds onto me like I can save her, but she will never be free after one oppressing kiss. Forgive me, sweet angel, for the wicked I must serve, and in your alliance with me, I draw you down. _

"That was beautiful," Christine said.

Erik didn't respond, but stared at her as if she were greatly mistaken. His eyes seemed to plead to her, to beg her to understand, but she already did understand that it was all about her.

"Erik," she said slowly, hoping her words would come easily if she just spoke from the heart. "You shouldn't think so highly of me…"

"Why not?" Erik asked quickly, as if the idea were foolish.

"Because," Christine said. "You mention demons, but I have my own."

Erik didn't react. He seemed surprised more that Christine was actually admitting this to him than presenting him with news. He nodded his head for confirmation and held a hand out for Christine. She didn't know what to make of the way he was responding to her, but she felt the need to continue anyway. Her hand grasped onto his.

"When I was 16, I was sexually assaulted," Christine said.

Erik held his free hand up in the air.

"You don't have to do this—"

"I spent the weekend with my aunt and uncle, out in New Jersey," Christine went on. She didn't want to hear Erik's protest. She'd already begun.

"I was given special privilege to sleep in the guest bedroom while my cousins all stayed in my youngest cousin's room, in sleeping bags on the floor."

She'd never given this much detail to anybody before, not even to…

_Oh, God. Don't say it._

"I was almost asleep when I heard the door open. My uncle was coming in and he saw that I had woken up. He knew I was awake…"

Christine began to tear up. Erik slid down from the chair and onto the floor beside Christine. He held onto her elbows, trying to support her weight, but she was crushing down from the weight on her shoulders. In his botched effort, Christine shook her head, unable to continue. Anybody could have told where the story was going. In her distress, Christine began to sob, holding onto Erik's wrists as he continued to try and keep her sitting up.

"The worst part," Christine breathed between gasps, "is that I still see him from time to time." She could hardly breathe. "Nobody in my family knows or would believe me." Everything was crashing down around her. "It happened all that weekend, and sometimes, when I have to visit with him, he still looks at me like…"

"Hush," Erik said, pulling her up onto her knees again.

Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's waist and pressed her face into his chest, pulling him in close against her. She could feel Erik grow tense and his arms drop to his sides, but she pulled him even closer, burying her face into the black jacket he always wore. It smelt of mildew and dust, but Christine cherished its scent. It was truly unique to him.

The tears faded slowly and Christine noticed suddenly that Erik now had a hesitant hand resting against her back. She nestled her nose out from within the folds of the jacket and looked up to Erik, waiting for him to catch her glance as he always did. All of the fear in the world Christine held vanished the moment he did look to her. She'd made the decision to inform him of her debilitating past, and he was still with her, willing to work past it and console her. He had been working with her the entire time, and now their meeting in the alley was colliding with her already established anxieties of her past.

But despite the past, he needed her _now_. Erik always seemed to need her, and it seemed almost as much as she needed someone who understood her. Erik understood her need for beauty, like her art, and her need for protection. In what once seemed like a horrible ordeal, Christine was now thankful for the time she'd had as his captive in the abandoned basement below ground. She was thankful that she'd met him, and she didn't want to lose him now. She needed his protection. She needed _her_ angel.

She looked up into his eyes and shivered.

Like a jolt rushing through her body, Christine threw her arms around his neck and pulled Erik in close to her, pressing her lips hard against his. Erik struggled, pushing his hands against her shoulders, urging her away from him, but Christine wouldn't budge. She tenderly fought against him, pressing one hand on his chest while the opposite arm remained wrapped around his shoulders, drawing him into her.

His lips were timid against hers, but as she held on, his hands began to press against her. His arms wrapped around her shoulders rather than push her away. She released herself for a breath and looked into his eyes, shaking from the exhilaration.

This was a first for both of them.

Christine went back again, pressing her mouth even harder against his and parting her lips. Their tongues met as Erik's arm wrapped around Christine's waist, pulling her whole body against his. Christine tensed as her chest grazed against his, but as his fingers ran through her air, she forced herself onward, pursuing further. Her senses were on fire and she was frightened of where they would take her.

She didn't want to look at him like any other person, but she wanted to experience him in a different way. Like a sculpture with his clay, Christine longed to handle every detail of Erik like she was studying him. She wanted to know everything about Erik and what created the man who was still such a mystery to her. She could feel his body, shy and anxious against hers, and already knew his commonplace gestures and mannerisms, but she was still blind to one of his most alluring features.

Her fingers drew up to his cheeks, pulling him even closer to her, which she didn't think was anymore possible. She could feel his chest contracting and inhaling heavily, pulling more of her soul deeper into his. She could feel the cold, smooth surface of the mask underneath her fingers and the heat rising from beneath its cover.

She only wanted to truly know him…

_What is he hiding, after all?_

Christine broke the kiss and kept her eyes closed, regaining herself as she slid the mask from off of his face. Her fingertips lined his jaw, preparing her to fall back into his lips when her eyes parted and her breath cut short.

"Damn you!"


	11. Bereaved of Light

_**Author's Note:** This chapter is in the point of view of Erik, as requested by a few readers. I didn't originally plan to include this, but I thought it was a good way to show what exactly is his train of thought, as well as feature what drives him to act the way he is. I wanted to show it at this point because it is the trust transition where not only we see the difference in Erik's behavior, but Christine sees it as well. I haven't really written a phic in Erik's POV, so this chapter was interesting to write for me. It is in all italics to emphasize that this is covering material already written and that it is inside of Erik's mind. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews, your favoriting and your following. I love and appreciate each and every one of you! _

_P.S. - anybody know where the title of this chapter comes from? Extra points if you remember the significance to any Phantom story :)_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p><em> She was the most stunning thing I had ever imagined. The beauty seemed to glide as she moved down the street, sweeping the pavement with her magic as she walked away from me, as all beauty should. No woman deserved to be sought after by a beast such as myself, yet the curl in her hair and the pout of her lips… I couldn't help but follow. I resigned from keeping within the shadows I lived in and kept a distant pace from her for nearly 3 months. Her schedule became mine and her steps guided me to the parts of the city I once avoided, drawing me away from the University where I first fell to her spell.. I became a teacher and a student to her course, lured in by the aesthetic purity of her face. I learned that she was a student and a server at a diner, acquiring finances from the well-being of her parents living upstate. Clearly, she lived the charmed life I never knew, as she should. For the meantime, she was pleasing to stare at. <em>

_ I'd never intended to come into her life. I just wanted to observe her from the side; to view her life as a story I'd never get to experience._

_ Until she made one wrong turn. _

_ I kept my distance as she entered the alley, knowing from observation that this particular corridor would be unwise to travel through. I'd seen the man with the hood before, and watched as he called another young woman 'beautiful.' She was not nearly as striking as this evening's girl in passing. He pulled the plain looking girl in the same way he'd held my interest and held the knife to her neck. Unfortunately for her, I was not inclined to aid in her protection. Instead, I watched with a repulsive mentality as he completed his task of raping the girl and slitting her throat just as he was finishing up. But tonight, he would not get his fill. He would not dispose of this beautiful creature the way he was accustomed. _

_ From across the street, I could see his attention turn to the alley, catching his next victim from the distance. He stepped off the curb and quickened his pace just in time to meet Christine near the end of the alley's entrance. He addressed her in his usual manner and then pulled her around, giving me a brief thrill as he held the knife close to Christine's neck, then lapped up the blood like a wolf. I gave him his moment of thinking he would get away with his deed, then took him by surprise. _

_ I removed the demon who tried to taint her and cradled her in my arms the entire journey, far from the safe streets of the city and into the slums of Alphabet City. The girl was light as a rose; small and fragile as she rested with her cheek against my chest. _

_ She rested for so long in the hole which I was forced to live. Away from the world, I tried to maintain distance from the unstable of mind who found themselves homeless and separated my status enough to at least feel ownership of a run down basement dwelling. It was the best I could do given my circumstances, and the best I could provide for the beauty. I feared her concussion to be much worse than I'd measured and dreaded that I would lose her, though her corpse would make a lovely prize to look at for at least a few days. But finally, her muscles began to react to dreams and eventually, I realized I would get to keep the angel as a living being. Her hand rested against her waist, lifting with each breath she took in, while her lips formed the slightest smile, clearly content in the sleep.._

_ Gently, she began to stir. _

_ The girl was panicked when she realized what had passed the night before. She thrashed beneath the cover and looked around the room for an answer, but I remained quiet. I suddenly didn't want her to be awake. I didn't want to deal with explanations, but as her eyes turned from the rose I left for her on the nightstand, she looked in my direction, scanning over my form. Then she looked back toward the door across from us both, looking at the slight trail of light from the window partially above ground. As a migraine took hold of her pretty little head, I gained my courage and spoke to her for the first time._

_ The poor girl noticed the mask. If only she knew the terror that lie beneath…_

_ She was so vulnerable laying there in such a state. How easy it would have been to take on her original attacker's plan, yet I was not that much of a monster. Instead, I spoke to her and answered her questions, assuring her I was indeed not that man who had attacked her the night before. _

_ I coaxed her back to sleep, which allowed me more time to reflect on the situation. How could I go about this fixation of mine now that I had her in my home? _

_ Oh, there were many hurdles to cross, but after saving her, I felt far more entitled to her. The obvious issue was her attachment to that boyfriend of hers. She believed she was in love with him, but she didn't know any better. Surely, he had never given her the thrill I was feeling then, as she looked at me from my own bed, petrified from her whole ordeal. Surely, she'd never experienced the love I now felt surging through my veins. I'd die for the girl, then and there. Hell, I even killed for her. _

_ Yes, these hurdles would be taken care of. Even though it was the boy she sought out first upon her arrival home, she would come around. She would come around and she would learn who truly loved her. I just needed to get into her head._

_ I started off slowly by reintroducing myself. I felt I'd need to spend time persuading her, but after one night, she was asking for my return already. It was all going better than I'd planned. _

_ Despite her preexisting anxieties toward men, she trusted me enough as a cover against them, shielding her from their lustful eyes as we walked from the university in Greenwich Village to her apartment in Sutton Place. What a lovely little neighborhood she lived in, and how truly pleased I was to escort her there every evening. She shied away from me quite often, but as she returned back to my side, I knew there was hope. She lived against her divinities, reason which should have shunned a creature like me from her life, but her wounds made her different. I knew her fear was heightened by the encounter that brought us together, but it was the one mystery that remained just that from me. The rest I learned was just surprises…_

_ Such as her artistic abilities. _

_ I was pleased to be invited to attend her art gallery, where her greatest work was inspired by me. It showed me how much she was truly meant to be mine. Yet I found myself even more pleased to see how much she'd seemed to be forgetting about that boy of hers. I watched her send him out, and I had her alone again. What a foolish man he was, to leave dear Christine alone to me._

_ With the rapid progress we had been making, I dared a tricky move. It started as just a mere fantasy of mine, but turned to reality during our first encounters together. I wondered, 'perhaps she'd follow me?' Her pretenses made her hesitant, but eventually she gave in and did follow. I was able to release her hand and she stayed. She did not cower from me as I led her through the darkness of my world, but looked about herself tentatively. _

_ Yes, I offered her escape, and she wanted it. Her life of schedules and order would be vanquished by my offer of quiet and darkness. I wanted her to feel like I did; to see that darkness was nothing to be afraid of, but to cherish. That she was not meant to live the ordinary lifestyle of the bustle in the city. She was meant to shine, but even diamonds grow beneath the surface of the earth. She grew comfortable with the idea; with me holding her against me. Her head rested within my arm and I could feel her weight pressing against me. She was giving herself to me. She truly wanted what I had to offer…_

_ And then she withdrew. _

_ Nothing I wasn't prepared for, though I do regret having to take the extreme of measures. The silence of my world now mocked me as I carried her once again in my arms, but this time, there was truly no turning back. _

_ She was quite angry when she woke, though not as bad as I had expected. Her little fists beat against me, but I remained strong despite feeling afraid I'd loose her. My fears were confirmed when she kept herself inside of the room, spending nearly a full three days locked away. My fear grew to anger as I began to believe that she would rather starve herself rather than spend the rest of her time in my presence. I resigned to letting her choose that course of fate, cursing her in each piece I wrote and feeling I'd forever fail in the art of women. _

_ But then she emerged._

_ Surely, the starvation was getting to her, as I saw her cheeks puckered in and her already petite frame looking emaciated. Her eyes were swollen and shadowed by sorrow, and I knew her only purpose for removing herself from her shelter was for nourishment. Her resentment for her predicament sent her back rather quickly to her confines, but I had faith now that she would give in. It was the only thing I ever had such faith in. _

_ As the time slipped by even more, her image was still fresh within my mind. It was my constant reminder that if I just crossed into the room and forced my way in, I could see her in person again. Meanwhile, I occupied my fragile mind with nothing but her. Her lips, her eyes, her hair, her nose, her hips, her waist... All so fragile and pure, and all I could think of within the silence of the room._

_ Even as she came from the room again, she was silent at my side, just as I liked it. Her questions were few and she wanting nothing more than my presence for her company. If I didn't believe it before, I fully believed now that this girl, my Christine, was sent solely for me. I only feared what would become of her soul._

_ She too must have feared it, because as she asked of the man who tried to rape her, I watched her skin turn pale. A wash of grey enveloped her porcelain features, but she remained calm. Oh, I knew she didn't know it, but I could see the glint of satisfaction cross over her eyes, pleased with my work. I had pleased the angel…_

_Christine was beginning to understand. She had learned how we live and how to enjoy being alone. It is clear that she longed to see me each morning and that she needed my aid. She knew that no other man could possibly be worthy of her, because they could not appreciate her beauty more than I. Her questions to me were no longer interrogations, but asked through curiosity. Like me, Christine was born to create, like I have molded her into her new form._

_Her beautiful blue eyes, still soft despite her troubles, gazed upon me as a real man; the mask no longer existed! Her fear had transcribed from her heart to the pages of her drawings and she sees more clearly now. She uses the supplies I stole for her as an outlet and returned to look to me as her only protection. I was her one and only in my world._

_The proof lied across the wall, where all that existed was her and I. Within twelve days, I'd molded a fearful child into a woman who found a new idol. _

_Time began to fly,, but we could stretch it on forever. She had clearly forgotten the boy and her fears. All she needed now was me. Despite my disadvantages, she remained beauty enough for the both of us, and she remained mine. For twelve days, she had been mine, but for a million more, she will remain. _

_I reminded her of the count on days, and I felt her catch her breath. She knew she can't leave now, but I wouldn't offer her a permanent place here until the last of fourteen days. Two more days, and she would truly be mine…_

_Even now, I feel it. She trusts me, and remarkably, I trust her to make the right decision. I trust her enough to share the few pieces of life I've lived worth sharing. We trust each other enough to listen, and I listen to her biggest of fears; the cause of all her mistrust toward man. Her most vital secret is out and we are both still alive. Her confession binds her to me and I will never, ever let her go now. _

_ And she grabs me, and kisses me, and holds me… my angel – my beautiful, precious Christine – wants me. She is mine and she is beautiful. She is more beautiful than I should be allowed, and I try and resist her. I should not have her, because I should not place such damnation on her lovely soul. She lives in the light and now shines it down on me, in my hell of a world. She pulls me closer and presses against me. I should not be allowed this bliss._

_ I wrap my arms around her anyway. I slip my tongue against hers, feeling my passion take over. Neither of us should be diving this deep, but she presses closer and accepts my offer, running her lips against mine. I am holding a woman for the first time in all my life, and I'm not letting go now. I regret nothing more in my life than this moment, but I keep at it, holding on to the thread which she dangles over my head. After all this, and she is now in control of me. _

_ All my life, I hid from the world and had been ousted, abandoned and ridiculed, and now, I hold true beauty in my arms. And nobody else can have her, as I swore in that moment. As I ran my fingers through her hair, I was placing my claim over her. I felt her delicate hands pull me closer, her breath hot against me and her body pressed so close…_

_ I felt a stretch from my stomach to my loins, begging me to initiate further, yet my stubborn brain denied my actions. It would be so easy – much easier now than ever before – to take her as mine. I deserved her because she chose me. _

_ I felt the boil inside me, her body against mine, her hands against my cheeks, her breath against my neck, and a breeze against my face…_

"Damn you!"


	12. Beneath the Darkness

_Author's Note: Well, here's that unmasking scene most people just love to read about. I'm really hoping that you all like it, because it was difficult to decide on dialogue, pace, emotions, etc... This is a very different perspective on an unmasking scene, but you are going to also have to realize that since this is set in modern times (theoretically, 10 July 2012 if you want to put it as the true present), it is going to be a different reaction to seeing a person with any deformity. Back in the day, people who weren't "normal" were not accepted. Today, we make such an effort to accept people that it would be a lot different, even to fall in love with somebody. But with a temper like Erik's... that's a different story, which is what I am trying to focus on. As well as Christine's main point, which is made toward the end. _

_This idea that Christine points out was truly the beginning of this fic. It was this idea that sparked the idea and really got the modern aspect of the story to work for me. With that, I hope that it all turns out to your liking... Thank you ALL so much for taking the time to read! I am so thrilled to see your lovely comments and encouragements, and I'd love for it to continue! Much love,_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>Christine opened her eyes with a flutter and drew back the moment her eyes set upon his face. It was far different than she expected to see, though she never formed a full opinion of what she anticipated seeing in the first place. She caught her breath and reached a hand toward his face, turning her head to the side and parting her lips with an extraordinary form of relief. He wasn't strikingly beautiful at all, but horribly distorted. So much so that he hid himself from the world because of it. But with Christine's wanting to escape the common response to her appearance, Erik's misfortune was liberation.<p>

Her hand reached out for him, wanting to show him her sorrow for his tragedy. She wanted to show him that she was with him still and would not leave, not now that she knew his secret. As her fingers lingered just before his malformed cheek, his eyes ripped open and pierced ointo her violently.

"Damn you!"

The mask fell from Christine's fingers, hitting the floor and cracking over one of the eye slits. It rested between the two of them, unnoticed underneath the instant tension filling the room as Christine stared up to her capture. Erik's hands reached out and grabbed her cruelly by the shoulders, shaking and digging his nails into her skin. Christine was motionless beneath his grip, looking up into his face and trembling in awe.

"Why?" Erik roared, leaning close to her face. "Why, Christine?"

"Erik—"

"Shut up!" he screamed, pulling her closer to him.

It _was_ a hideous sight, but she could not keep herself from staring. His skin was stretched over fragile bones, drawn out like spider webs extended across branches. It was thin and yellowed, peaking over where his cheeks should have been. Between points, his face was hollow, showing the skeletal features that resided beneath. The skin did not form enough to fully cover his lips or his nose, where a large gapping hole glared right back at her. His greasy black hair hung over his domed forehead and his broad, frowning brow, and it seemed he had turned into nothing more than a costumed figure, if it weren't for those amber eyes set on her.

Beneath the shadow of his brow, they shone through their fire; the same amber Christine had grown so comfortable with. Despite their fury now, they were the eyes of the man she had found strength in. Now, she knew the source of all his insecurities and it made her feel such pity for him, yet such a parallel to her own.

"Erik, please—"  
>"No!" Erik said, his mouth close enough to devour her, if he so chose. "You stupid, stupid girl!"<p>

His eyes beamed down on her and his grip around her arms grew tighter. In Christine's already weakened state from the severely altered diet she'd endured during the near two weeks, she could almost feel his nails grinding down to the bone. She shifted beneath his weight, trying to shake him off, but he pulled her close against his body, holding her up against his weight and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. His free hand latched around her neck harshly, forcing her to look up to him.

"You couldn't be content with what we had?" he asked cynically. "You couldn't accept me for what I was?"

"You're hurting me," Christine cried, trying to free herself from his grip.

"I'm sorry," Erik spat sarcastically. "Do you not like that? Does this _upset_ you? It must be quite _uncomfortable_ for you!"

Christine managed to shake away his hand from around her neck, but it replaced with a grip around her face, grasping at her cheeks and pulling her to look directly at him again. He growled as he pulled closer, snarling his teeth so close to her that she could smell the rage on his tongue. She remained silent and went still, her whole body now trembling. His fingers shook too with her beneath his grip.

"_I had you_," Erik whispered low in his throat. "You were _mine._"

A tear feel from Christine's eye as she tried to control her breathing to avoid the pain. Erik released his hand from her face and replaced it to the back of her head, holding it up to him and stroked her hair like she was a lifeless doll. His teeth shattered and he was trembling so hard, Christine was afraid he was growing ill with more than just madness. His breathing was shallow and heavy, and he bit the skin beneath his teeth where the lips were missing. He too, lost a tear from his eyes, which sparked a flow of tears to follow. He began to sob, pulling Christine against his chest and pressing her into him, holding her in place like she was nothing more than a child's toy.

"You were supposed to be mine forever," Erik said, pulling her away and holding her face up to his again.

"I'm not afraid," Christine said immediately, trying to reach her hands up to his.

She tried to get him to understand. Christine wanted nothing more than for him to realize that what she saw beneath the mask, as horrible as it appeared, was nothing to break her ties to him. She longed to be free of the stares of lustful men eyeing her and thought how truly unique it would be to be ignored as she passed. She clearly did not understand that Erik had his share of staring. Without beauty, Erik was observed as a monster to others; undesirable and loathsome, yet still capable of living. He was only worth pitying, but not at all worth keeping around long, and especially not loving.

Erik grabbed her hands and laughed evilly.

"Not afraid?" he mocked. "Not afraid of what, my dear? Of this?"

He gestured to his face using her own hands, tracing her fingers against the skin and running them across every orifice. Christine struggled beneath his grip, trying to draw away but surrendered, realizing her contradiction.

"Not afraid," Erik moaned. "You lie! You cannot stand to think of me!"

"Erik—"

"Shut up!" Erik yelled. "I don't need to hear your lies!"

"Just let me—"

Erik's hand reached back and slapped Christine across the face.

Christine fell from his grip onto the floor and held her palm against her stinging flesh, trying to keep the pain from growing. She trembled harder, no longer afraid to show her fear of her actions. Erik was motionless where he stood, examining the hand that had sent Christine to her spot on the ground as if he couldn't believe he was capable of such a thing. But Christine knew it was entirely possible. He had killed before, and it now seemed entirely conceivable that he could do it again if she provoked him enough.

His form stirred to Christine's side and be could feel the shadow of his presence now hovering over her. He was standing with one leg on either side of her body, leaning over her and watching for movement. She kept steady with her eyes closed and her arms wrapped around her head, holding on tight.

"Don't test my patience," he seethed through his teeth. "You've crossed a line no one has before."

Christine stirred beneath her cover, unsure if she should speak or unveil herself. Erik was still hovering over her, leaning close to her head and speaking into her ear. She'd never been harmed this way before… despite all that she had endured in her past and even within that very month, it disturbed her more to have someone she felt so composed with lashing out at her in such a way.

Her leg stretched out, giving slight movement to test Erik's reaction. He did not move, but she figured he was watching her. She tried the other leg with the same result and then uncovered her face, slowly turning to look in his direction. He was standing right above her with his face suspended over hers, like she'd expected. His teeth were bared and his eyes were wildly acute on her. He would not break his stare but Christine couldn't loose him. Not now. Christine reached out to Erik as an atoning gesture, provoking his hand to snap out and grab at her wrist.

Christine cried out, amazed at the rapidity he was able to seize her.

Erik managed to take hold of the other hand and pulled her up closer to his twisted face, holding her by the wrists and shaking them to gain her attention. Christine struggled against him, trying to use her weight on the ground to free her hands, but Erik's grip was firm and kept her in place. Christine detained her struggle.

"Oh, Christine," he said to her slowly. "You cannot take back what you have done…you cannot remove the past."

"I know," she said sourly, distantly reminding herself how true she knew this to be.

"You cannot erase this face from your mind now," Erik said, ignoring her previous acknowledgement.

"Oh, Erik," Christine sighed. "Your face doesn't concern me."

"Bullshit!" he screamed at her, shaking her arms enough to bob her head wildly.

Christine struggled, trying to regain her arms again, but she was only given them back on Erik's terms. He held her close to his face again, staring at her with the most hateful glare she'd ever experienced, and then he began to cry again. He dropped her down to the ground with a thud and turned away, covering his face like a mole consumed in daylight. He fell to the ground across from Christine and scooped the mask into his hands, running it back over his face as if it was all that kept his heart beating.

As he stood, Erik's stature regained from feeble to completely confident. His hands brushed back the hair that fell into his face as he strapped the black mask behind his ears and he took a deep breath of air before turning and looking down to Christine again. His disgust with her was evident, but he continued to stare down at her like he was scolding a child with silence.

"I'm sorry," Christine said meekly.

"You betrayed my trust," Erik said dryly. "For that, I cannot forgive you."

"Your trust?" Christine said, her eyes turning cold like Erik's. "You've betrayed mine just as much."

Erik rounded on her quickly, bending over her once again and keeping his face right up against hers. His hand was extended as if to grip around her neck again, but he looked down to his itching fingers and then back to Christine, finding a small sense of control.

"I have done no such thing," Erik breathed. "I've offered you protection, and you removed that the moment you touched the mask."

"You made me trust to confide in you," Christine countered. "But your reactions have turned me to fear you more than I ever could before."

The words affected Erik deeply. His lip trembled beneath the mask, though his eyes would not waver. He tried to hide his true sentiments behind the mask, but Christine could see past it. She wanted to see that same strength and dignity without the mask, yet like any other human, uncovering a weakness showed truth. And all Christine could see beneath his weakness was a twisted man. Aside from his face and his solitude, he was dangerous. He was angry and cruel and ignored all propriety the moment he shed his shield.

"You can never know how it feels," Erik said with a hint of scorn in his tone, "to have the world wish you ill."

Christine kept her comments inside, knowing she could change the pace of this moment. She could show Erik what she felt the moment she saw him and how she could nurture his disadvantages.

"I want to help," she tried.

"You can never help," Erik spat, rounding on her again. "You've unleashed my rage, and with it, you've lost your freedom."

"What?" Christine asked, trying to get back to her feet.

"You are no longer free, Christine Daae."

"You can't do that!" Christine gasped, reaching out for him.

"Stop!" Erik screamed.

In one motion, he scooped Christine up from the ground and held her by one of her arms with the rest of her body dragging behind him. His nails dug into her skin and her skin scrapped against the concrete of the basement floor. Christine struggled against him, using her feet and free arm to try and pry herself away from him, but he was simply too strong.

"You don't know me, Christine," he cried. "And you will _never_ know the man behind the mask!"

"Stop, please—"

"Is _this_ truly what you wanted to see, my dear? The corpse that lives beneath the streets of Manhattan? The half-living man who adores you and idolizes you as a true, living woman? Who wants nothing more than to have you and keep you as his forever? Is _that_ what you wanted to find, m'dear?"

He was slow and deliberate as he walked, taking his time to throw mockery and words of his fixation for her.

"Two more days," Erik moaned. "and you would have been mine!"

He seemed to truly believe this. Like after the two days, Christine would have just thrown everything she had aside for him. But she knew it wasn't so simple. As much as she wanted simplicity, it would never come. Even he, the man she felt was so simple in his way of living, turned out to be the most complex of people.

"Two weeks – fourteen days – and you could have learned to love me for what I truly am."

Christine couldn't correct him now. For though she could have loved him for what he truly was, she found that beneath the mask he was truly a monster. His appearance meant nothing against his vile abuse and despicable temper. She could have loved him, but she saw now just how she knew him to be deep beneath the surface. He was truly mad and obsessed with her.

He stopped in front of the door to the bedroom and pulled Christine roughly up to her feet. Her back hit against the door and her spine crushed against the knob stabbing against her back. He pressed his body up against her, just as he allowed moments before he'd snapped. Christine struggled against him, unnerved by his close proximity to her and tried to keep her face away from his as he kneeled down to look her straight in the eyes.

"Two days," Erik whispered. "And you'll return home. The deal must still be kept, and perhaps reflection will bring you around."

"No," Christine said defiantly, expecting to be struck again. "No, it won't work. I see now that you are just like any other man. You are just like those you've tried to protect me from. You're so caught up in my appearance that you'd stoop to any level to get me alone. Well, you've got me Erik, and you nearly had me. But I will never let you take me again."

Erik's lip curled into a snarl and his body pressed even closer against hers. His hand slipped beneath her head and gripped tightly to her hair as his face lingered closer to hers. Christine truly feared that he would attempt to attack her kiss, and now the thought coupled with what she now knew was beneath the mask made her sick. For his soul truly seemed to be just as his face pronounced. She wished so badly that she could be the one to love him despite his exterior, but his heart was too appalling to forgive. Erik's eyes burned with fire as his fingers twisted inside of Christine's curling hair, gripping tightly and nearly taking a tuff out from her head.

"We'll see about that," he said.

With that, Erik pulled Christine's hair and forced her by it back into the room. She staggered back into the familiar quarters were it all began and turned just as the door was slamming behind her. The last glimpse of Erik she saw was the crack of the mask over the left eye and the burning amber eye beneath, hovering just over a sinister smile that exuded of promise in his words.


	13. Freedom

_**Author's Note:** I had somebody ask me on a private message something interesting, and I wanted to share my answer as my author's note. I was asked why I decided to keep both of Christine's parents alive for this story. Well, when I began to ponder how true I would stick to Leroux, I reminded myself of what it is that made Christine vulnerable in the first place. Christine had nobody but an adoptive mother after her father died. Her father was her everything because that was all she knew growing up. When he died and left her a false promise about sending an angel to her, she became weakened with the idea that this would actually happen. She was suseptable to the idea, and when she found something that presented itself as this angel to her, she took it and ran. This is what makes the idea of Erik so difficult to let go of... it was her angel. He was what her father sent her... even after being told that it was a hoax, it's crushing to her character and difficult to fully rid herself of, because emotion sets in. __  
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_Losing a parent now is a bit different. Especially because we are not taught to rely on our parents, I felt that this Christine wouldn't be as affected. Not that it wouldn't be tragic, but in all honesty, as horrible as it sounds, for a college student trying to pay for living and tuition, having a deceased parent means extra money (at least in the United States). So rather than having Christine loose her father and gain off of it financially, I decided to just have her being well-off, but having the need to work for her own. In steps the question: what makes her vulnerable? Obviously, in this story, it is her fear from what happened to her when she was younger. It is believing that nobody cares and that men are not to be trusted. So when a man who comes and preserves her innocence is in the picture, she is more likely to not only trust them, but to also put more trust on them than on others (ie, Raoul.) When this piece of trust enters and then is actually bad... you might have some issues getting over it. Hence, where we are at in this story. It may not seem like Christine is stuck on him, but don't you worry. _

_Sorry for the long bit on the subject, but I just loved answering this question for the reader and wanted to share. Please, if you do have any random questions like this, I'd love to hear them! Anyway, forgive me for the SLOW update... I started writing this shortly after I posted the unmasking chapter and then life happened. HOPEFULLY since my summer is more clear now, I can be a bit more consistent with updates. Thanks for reading, each and everyone of you, I love you all!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>The candle beside the bed had gone out hours ago. The wax had seeped across the surface of the small nightstand table, covering it in a vanilla scented plaster. A single rose was wilted and blackening, unexpended over the evening and beyond. The darkness kept Christine's senses keen, turning her head to any slight sound. Every little detail to the city crept inside of her confines, yet nobody would be able to hear her pleas, even if she tried to make them. Horns honked from busy drivers and shouts from the streets above filled Christine's ears as she sat in the abandoned room, staring at the door. It was the first time in nearly two weeks that Christine noticed the sounds of the outside world. Anything to fill the silence. It beat the rampage she'd heard outside of the door only hours before. Erik was clearly struck with anger and Christine didn't want to step in the way of it. She'd heard slamming and heavy thuds, accompanied by groans of anger and exasperated yells.<p>

The wooden chair that had been in the room all of the two weeks was placed in front of the door, with its back slipped beneath the knob for leverage against an outsider's intrusion. Christine was pondering moving the nightstand in front of it as well, but she didn't want to draw attention to her actions behind the door. Besides, she didn't know how much time was left until he would return…

He said she'd return home; that he was keeping his word in letting her go back despite the horrors that had previously passed. But how much time was left? How much longer would she have to stay? She wanted so badly to be allowed out of the abandoned basement dwelling, but there was no telling what it would take to set her free.

Christine's stomach rolled and lurched inside of her, she was so hungry. Her mouth stuck to her tongue from thirst and her restless mind would not allow her to fall asleep. Instead, she kept watch of the door, terrified that her captor would lose it again. The fire inside of his eyes was just like that she saw in the man who wanted to rape her, only worse. Erik's eyes were lit as if they wanted to devour her. And it wouldn't be hard either. Christine was in such a feeble state that if he so wanted to take her, he could. Her head could hardly lift from her shoulders and her arms hung low, refusing to lift herself off of her spot on the ground. Her body ached from Erik's mistreatment, while her cheek still burned. But her mind was also on fire.

"_I had you…"_

Did he?

There certainly was some sort of hold on her, but was it his power or Christine's? Who had who in this strange circumstance? Christine felt for the first time now that she was truly captive to a deranged man, but why hadn't she realized before? Even at the very beginning of his keeping her hostage, she was angry that he'd felt the right to keep her away from her life, but she still felt the affections of her guardian prevailing against the dangers she was put under. During their time together, it seemed that Christine was able to sway Erik's actions. He seemed to bend to her needs and even opened up to her in conversation. There was no sign of an authoritative figure before, but it was certainly clear who had control now.

"_You've unleashed my rage, and with it, you've lost your freedom…"_

But what freedom?

Was this freedom she was feeling now? Being away from his presence? Or was there more to her freedom that she hadn't understood? She could feel his presence all around her now, lingering in the darkness that she was consumed in. Whether he was in the room with her or not, he was still with her, and Christine felt the threat ever present.

The cars seemed to silence as they passed now. Christine figured another night was fallen over Manhattan and it was another day closer to her supposed release. She was just another moment closer to leaving the abandoned room, but what would happen then? It seemed much longer than the two days Erik had mentioned, so perhaps he had deceived her. The idea of curling up and dying right inside of that room was beginning to look more and more realistic.

From the corner of her eye, Christine saw the gleaming white page of her drawing pad. Her colored pencils were placed right beside it, freshly sharpened within their packaging where Christine kept them. With an exaggerated effort, Christine crawled on her knees toward the supplies on the corner of the bed. She pulled herself up onto the bed and snatched the supplies off of the covers and brought them onto her lap, flipping at the front cover to reveal the single page remaining in the book.

She held the pad in her lap, looking down to the fresh page as if she was afraid of tarnishing it, yet she knew she had to free her mind. Her idea seemed such a terrible one, yet she knew that being her last page of the book and her last drawing – maybe ever – she had to release the beast inside of her mind. She had to bring out the image scaring its face within her brain, and reveal it the only way she knew how.

Her choices in colors were very few: black, yellow and orange. She started immediately with the orange and yellow, curving a dark black rim around the blending of colors. Two fiery beads started the drawing off, but it took great detail to perfect. Christine continued scribbling the colors amongst each other, shading and sculpting them until they were finally to her liking. The features surrounding the hazel orbs were easier to depict, yet still took a great amount of time to complete. They set amongst the form of an unturned brow, distress lines on a forehead, a screaming mouth, and the lacking features of a nose…

It was the most realistic piece of art Christine had ever created, stepping aside from her usual abstract illusions and creating for total resemblance. His scorned eyes, reaching down to her soul, his raised cheekbones, his flying locks of scraggly hair... Each knot and twist of his skin and each crevice within his face was made to true likeness, though fancy was not within Erik's favor, even against the grain of a drawing pad.

Sympathy only took Christine so far as she looked down into the eyes she could still remember blazing at her in fury, and she was reminded of the monster that lurked beneath the surface of that pitiful face. The man truly did deserve pity, but himself Erik was to be feared. Erik was the man beneath the mask, and he was the one who was madly obsessed with Christine.

Christine spent extra time on the drawing, thickening lines for exaggeration and shading for extra detail that the lack of lighting failed to capture in her real life experience. She began to imagine more of what Erik truly looked like in the gleam of pure daylight, and realized it was exactly why he kept himself concealed in darkness. He was safe away from the light, and he was capable of obtaining more power beneath his shield.

The task of detailing the drawing took Christine's attention from attempting to keep track of the time or sensing the atmosphere around her. She was entranced by focusing on one small detail and magnifying it, then holding the paper pad out at an arm's length to inspect her work. Christine shuddered each time she saw the drawing from afar again, trembling at the thought of his ravaged face coming at her to harm her again.

After the drawing was complete, Christine held it out in front of her and stared. She tried to convince herself that if she were to be trapped here forever, she could stand to see that face. That even if she were to be deceived, she could handle the man behind the mask. But it was the man beneath the façade that she feared, and this would not leave her mind. An angel one moment, and a monster the next, Erik had erased all that Christine had once feared and instilled a completely new form of fear.

She held it out in the air again, about the height she'd expected Erik to stand. She imagined him screaming at her again and could feel her body ache. And then the doorknob twisted.

Without hesitation, the door flung open, sending the chair flying in pieces across the room. The backing of the chair hit the nightstand across the room and the hinges were nearly broken when her eyes met Erik's beneath the black mask. She dropped the sketch pad on the floor and tried to stare at Erik long enough, but her fear gave in. Christine turned away and looked at her hands grasping at each other in her lap on the bed. She tugged at the sheet beneath her and closed her eyes, trying to control her trembling.

Erik stood in the doorway with his foot that had just kicked down the door firmly planted on the ground. His hands were clutched at his sides and his head tilted downward. Christine could imagine his brow curled over his two eyes that seemed to glow from across the room. The only light that could be seen was from the washroom behind him, where Christine could hear the faint crackle of the fire inside of the trash bin. It formed a dark shadow against Erik's back.

"Stand," Erik said in a stern voice.

Christine obeyed, dropping her hands to her sides and looking slightly downward, trying to give the impression that she was actually watching him. Her focus rested on his chest. He began to walk forward, meticulously stepping as if actually trying to frighten Christine. Each foot fell heavy on the ground while his chest widened. His shoulders sprawled out like a sparrow charming his mate, and his breath could be heard on every step, puffing from his nostrils as he put the attention on him.

Christine remained where she stood, her fingers entwining in front of her as he continued his parade in her direction, but she continued to look slightly away from his glare.

As he stepped right in front of Christine, a shift of his foot caused a crinkle of paper to sound between them. They both froze, letting out a cool breath of air. Christine looked straight up into his eyes, while Erik looked down to the source of the noise.

His eyes grew wide and he stumbled backwards, throwing his arms up to cover his face. It was as if he had looked into a mirror, he was panic-stricken by the image looking up at him. His boots clapped as he stepped backward, running into the wall, and his arms flew wildly around himself. His arms wrapped tightly around his head and held on, as if this position would keep his hideousness from escaping, but he seemed to realize that the horror was not his actual face reflecting back to him, but the work of Christine.

The grip around him loosened and he dropped his arms back to his sides, pressing his palms against the wall he was backed against. His own fear of himself had cornered him in his own dismay, and he realized his vulnerability. Erik leaned himself against the wall and hung his head low, running a quick hand over his cheek to ensure the mask was actually still securely in place.

Christine tried a tentative step forward, letting her bare foot stand over the face of the drawing. He didn't move. She made another movement in his direction, and then another, and another after that, but he did not stir. Christine was eventually standing before him, her weakened frame beneath his, yet he would not acknowledge her presence. His eyes were diverted away from hers for the first time, unable to accept, when he took another daring move in lifting her hand up from her side and reaching it out to his masked face.

It ran slowly up toward him, her fingers grazing the black leather as her palm pressed down against the cheek.

Erik's hand shot around her wrist, gripping it tightly and pulling her arm out to his side. His eyes turned to hers and shot fire at her while his teeth were bared. A low growl formed in his throat as he leaned down over her, standing so close…

Christine slowly shrank away, holding her free hand up in the air as surrender. Her lips trembled, but could not speak a word. Despite her attempt at showing Erik that last remaining respect she had for him, she could only feel pity for the man so absorbed in the fear of being seen by others.

Even as Erik was hovering over her, seething in her face and gripping to her so tightly, Christine felt badly for him. He was truly alone, and after all that he had done, he would remain alone.

Erik pulled her arm out further, nearly yanking it from her body. He held it up in the air behind him and leaned in over her, forcing her head back into a tilt.

"Come," he said.

With a harsh tug, Erik was pulling Christine by the arm through out of the bedroom and through the washroom. He whipped her around to follow past the enflamed trashcan and through the doorway, where she could see the room beyond in ruins. The chairs were smashed against the walls, splintered and cracked against the floor, and white pages were scattered everywhere. Written and printed words were torn from their pages with the spines of books left with nothing to conceal, and the walls were bare except for clumps of tape and nails sticking out from the boards. Within the pages of Erik's writings were the remains of all the drawings Christine had created in her time there, torn and shredded on the floor like a storm had blown through.

Erik tugged at Christine's arm, forcing her to move onward as she scuffed through the debris.

The door flung open, a sight which Christine only was allowed to see during her time to shower, and a breeze of relief passed over her. She was not out of Erik's control yet, but the door opening was the beginning, Christine knew. She looked out into the long hallway, which was equally as ravaged as the basement dwelling, and then looked up to Erik.

His eyes were already heavy against her cheek, and now they scorned her as she made contact with him. She was frightened, but continued to hold his gaze, reminding herself to steady her breathing to appear braver. As he looked down on her, his eyes grew more angry. He started in a mere irritation, but the longer Christine held his glance, the deeper his brow bent and the more curled his lips grew. He'd finally had it, and turned to Christine, gripping his hands around her neck and pushing her against the wall.

Christine cried out, trying to take hold of his arms to stop him, but he was already pressing his frame against her and the hallway, his face so close to hers. Christine shook uncontrollably, closing her eyes to steady her tears and then looking back into his wild eyes, pleading. Erik was silent for some time, holding her against the wall with his hands gripped around her, tightening at random as if a thought within his head provoked his rage.

"Why do you mock me?" he said with a shake of her head.

"I'm not," Christine said back dryly.

Erik's grip tightened further as his thumb pressed into her neck. Christine choked and squirmed, trying to fight him off, but there was no use. Her eyes fluttered as she looked to him defiantly, nearly wishing her death to come quickly.

"The way you're staring at me says otherwise," Erik sneered.

With a shift jab to the throat, Erik released Christine's neck but kept her body held against the partition. Christine coughed, trying to regain normalcy in her breathing, and then looked back up to Erik with scorn.

"You're trying to clear your conscience," Erik said.

Christine tried to interject.

"Ah-ah, my dear… you're trying to make yourself believe that what you did was not your fault, but only mine; that the way you feel now is not of your own doing."

"Oh, is that it?" Christine mocked.

Erik growled, leaning over her with his hot breath blowing directly from his nostrils into her face. Christine made a point to try and remain strong, but the pressure of his hands pushing her into the wall was too much. She looked to her side and tried to move, but of course, he pressed harder. Christine whimpered, and shook her head, tears now running down her cheeks.

"I'm not trying to mock you," she said through her tears. "I only wanted to know you."

"You crossed the line," Erik said.

"Did I? By simply wanting to see the face beneath your mask?"

Christine had turned back to Erik and they were continuing another stare down. He was concealing his loss for words well beneath his influence over Christine, but she remained intent.

"You _did_ have me," Christine said. "But you'll never have me the same way again."

Erik took a step closer to Christine, though Christine hardly thought it was possible. He was completely against her now, pressing his weight down on her and hovering his face over hers. The thought of her poorly chosen words now sunk in as the glint in his eyes was far too familiar. This whole time he had amble opportunity to seize her for himself, yet he remained perfectly still.

"Go ahead," Christine said, tears flooding her eyes. "I know what you want from me. There's no way I'm going to get out of it now."

Fiercely, Erik grabbed the back of Christine's head and pulled her to the point that her nose was pressed against the leather of the mask. Her bravery welled inside of her as she expected for the worst, but then Erik began to emit a sickening laugh through his twisted mouth. Christine could taste the foulness of his breath and trembled, expecting for him to spread his lips over hers. Instead, he continued to laugh.

"No, Christine," he said between outbursts. "No, I will not take advantage of you're purity."

Christine held her breath as his fingers grazed over his chin.

"But make it known that I do keep my promises," he continued. "and you truly have lost your freedom."

The tone of his voice was vicious, and Christine hardly felt the tug at her arm as he pushed off from the wall and swung her around to walk behind him. He was leading her back down the hallway again, but rather than turning to the right, he swerved toward the left and led Christine out into the early morning sunlight.

Christine's eyes squinted in pain, unaccustomed to the brightness of the day for the full two weeks. Her freedom was more painful than she thought – but no, she was not being granted freedom. Then what was he doing? Where was he taking her and what was next in her horror story?

As the sun lessened in intensity, Erik pulled Christine into his side and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, letting the bulk of his heavy black jacket wrap around her. He pulled his hood up over his head and looked down to her, his amber eyes distastefully staring upon her with hate.

"Do not show any indication of distress," Erik said into her ear. "Or it'll be more than just yourself who suffers."

Christine clenched her jaw and nodded her head.

_Just let this end…_

Erik stepped down a single step into the street, holding Christine tightly against his side like he once did for protection.

How strange that the change in him happened so quickly… he was once full protection for Christine, and now he was total fear. He urged the best out of her, making her accepting and maybe even courageous. But now she realized that she was only foolish. She put all of her hope into someone who she knew nothing of, and she knew she would pay for it. She could only imagine that her life was on the line, but as she felt the cross necklace shift against her neck, she welcomed the thought. She was prepared for death.

Her thoughts, though few and focused, kept her occupied until she was beginning to see the muck disappear from the streets and buildings. The sun was coming out more and the population of the city was beginning to emerge. The streets crammed with cars, while the first of pedestrians began to come in clusters. The area around her was beginning to look familiar again.

Christine could feel the tension growing beneath the jacket, knowing that Erik's comfort was being pushed. He looked over his shoulder and led Christine across the street, pulling her down into an alley. Christine tried not to show her distaste for the idea, but Erik whirled her around by the arm and set her in front of him, placing both of his hands on her shoulders and looking firmly into her eyes.

"Go," Erik said after a pause.

Christine shook her head, unable to make sense of his singular instruction.

"Go home," Erik repeated. "Leave me."

He pulled his hands from her shoulders and turned to walk away from her.

"Wait," Christine said. "That's it? You're just going to leave me? Here?"

Erik stopped and turned toward her.

"Yes, Christine," he said. "This is your freedom. Don't you remember?"

"Yes," she said, "but—"

"You are perfectly safe, even without me at your side," Erik said.

Christine turned her head, looking around the alley, but saw no alternative other than Erik himself, who was standing with his arms out to his sides.

"I promised you your freedom," Erik said in a whisper. "But I will never, ever leave you."

With a quick turn, Erik was walking away from Christine and turning the corner, leaving her alone in the alley. He turned the opposite direction from which they came, and Christine found her hand reaching for him, anticipating for him to return to her. Minutes passed and there was no sign of his coming back.

Reluctantly, Christine turned, praying she would not see anybody coming toward her in the alley. She was relieved to see nobody and quickly left the unforgiving atmosphere. Her pace was quick as she continued home, looking over her shoulder as she went and trying to mask her fear.

Erik's presence could still be felt around her, as if he were still that shadow following behind her on their walks home in the evening. Now, he was truly a shadow, moving when she moved and following just behind her as she walked. Though others passing by would not have a second thought, Christine knew the position she was in. She knew he was nearby.

Christine arrived back at Sutton Place quickly, and within moments quickening her pace up the stairs to her apartment building. She didn't know where else to go and didn't want to put anybody else in danger, so the only place she could go was home. Despite knowing that Erik was surly watching, she couldn't fear letting him know where she lived, because she knew deep down that he already knew. The idea was frightening, but then anything anymore was now unpleasant to realize.

The day was going to be beautiful, despite it being winter. The sun had come out enough from the clouds and the snow storms were predicted to be few for the season. Yet inside of Christine's mind, her peace of the storm to come was erased. No matter what freedom Erik had granted her, she knew that his promise would remain… Erik would be part of her life, and she would have no peace.

Tears filled Christine's eyes as she turned from the door to the apartments and brushed her glance across the street, searching for any signs of the masked man in the black jacket. Without any trace, she began to tear up, shaking her head and resting it against her palms. As she looked back up, she grabbed the small cross necklace and held it tightly in her hands, trying to contain her worry. Fists clenched and soul quivering, Christine stomped her foot and threw her arms weakly to her side.

"What have you done to me?" she cried.


	14. Shadows and Promises

_**Author's Note: **Fun fact about this chapter: an earthquake erased pretty much everything that I originally wrote. True story. If anybody is in the southern California area and felt that, then you'd know what I'm talking about. Only the earthquake didn't knock my laptop over. I did. Because I ran like a maniac to the doorway. Because I am petrified of earthquakes. ANYWAY. This is a filler chapter of sorts. I needed a bit of a transition between parts that are to come. Not to mention, I am still working on the exact direction of this story. That's right, it's not all planned out perfectly. Which means there is room for growth! So give me your critiques, ideas, thoughts, anticipations, etc. Who knows, you may just spark something amazing to add in!_

_I'd like to take a moment to thank a few people: _emeraldphan, phan3145, belleange48, gravity01, and third-degree-kisse_s for your multiple reviews. It makes me feel great to see that you are enjoying reading this enough to review not only once, but twice, three times, etc. THANK YOU! Also, thank you to_ muffin0710_ for your bit of critique on the story, as well as your kind words. Though it may not seem like much critique by your wondering about music not being part of the plot, it does help me to know people's thoughts about things such as that. Thank you for sharing because I greatly do appreciate it. And finally, a big thank you to _EVERYBODY_ who has stopped by to read this. I've been having fun writing it and have honestly put off other writing pieces I've started just to enjoy this. I will tell you now, I have another Phantom fic idea that would be quite different than this take, but I won't even start to think about that until I've outlined it, as well as gotten close to finishing this. Hope you enjoy this mini-chapter :)_

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><p>Entering her apartment was like a dream. The frebreze scented room was now stale and the usually warm atmosphere was chilled and dark. It had been the custom over the past two weeks for Christine to live in conditions such as this, but to see her own apartment in such a state was uncharacteristic. Christine hardly noticed that the door was left unlocked and that her belongings that were once left out were now placed away. She simply walked inside and stood in the entry, unsure where to go or what to do. Her keys were hung on a hook to the side of the door, while her bag of belongings that had been collected during her time away was tossed beneath them. The apartment seemed so strategically kept during her absence, despite that she had no warning that she'd be gone. She hardly wanted to delve on the possibilities of how such feats were met. The thought simply took too much effort.<p>

Her feet scuffed heavily behind her, dragging from the fatigue and hunger. All of the weight of her ordeal rested on her shoulders – despite her freedom – but she didn't feel any desire to replenish herself.

As she walked past the entry, she turned into the kitchen and living room, where her eyes locked on a figure sitting in a chair across from her. He was asleep with his legs stretched out straight in front of him, while his arms cross over his chest. His neck was tweaked against his shoulder, and his head bent against the backing of the chair, with his mouth hanging open.

Christine approached slowly, cautious not to wake the figure in the chair and stopped directly in front of him, staring down in disbelief. He was the last person she'd expected to see on her return home, yet he still seemed so unreal. Perhaps he was only part of the dream that existed in her apartment.

But even in the dream, Christine wanted to keep to herself. She wanted to feel herself again, without having to please anybody else. She needed to connect with herself again to sort the feelings she had dwelling inside of her. But she also needed comfort.

Taking each step carefully, Christine situated herself next to the chair and lowered herself down to her knees. She took a moment to look up to Raoul's face and examine it, assuring herself that it was truly him. His soft, blonde hair was messy and in need of a trim, but the worrisome frown across his brow was characteristic of him, especially over the past month.

Christine rested her hands against his knee and then rested her head on top of them. She tilted her cheek toward her boyfriend and closed her eyes lightly. She didn't expect herself to fall asleep so readily, but as her eyes grew heavier, she drifted down into an unconscious world of dreamless sleep. She could feel herself forcing her eyes to remain in this sleeping state, until she was abruptly jolted from her resting spot.

She looked up and saw Raoul waking, stretching the tension from his neck by rolling his head from shoulder to shoulder. He groaned lightly, and then opened his eyes with a start. He leaned back against the chair and looked at Christine as if she were part of his dreams, but then he reached his hand out to touch her arm.

"Christine?" he said.

Christine remained still, looking up to him and suddenly regretting staying by his side. There was already such pressing in his tone, and she knew there would be a great deal of questioning to come. Why else would he have spent the night in her apartment?

"Yes," she said quietly.

Raoul dropped off of the chair and onto the floor in front of Christine, pulling her into his embrace and holding her tightly. He buried his nose into her hair and ran his hands up and down her back as if he was trying to keep her from ever escaping him again. Christine slowly allowed her arms to curl around his waist, hesitant to take another man into her embrace.

She was ashamed of what had happened, and scared that Raoul would never forgive her. What would he think of all she would have to report? Would he believe her? Christine tried to keep her tears back, but once one single drop slid down her cheek, a flood soon followed.

"It's okay," Raoul said into her ear, pulling her in closer if it was even possible. "You're okay."

Christine shook her head, though it was only noticeable to herself. For some reason, she knew that Raoul's words were not true.

They remained in an embrace for some time. Raoul surely wanted to take in the feeling of having his girlfriend back with him, while Christine just wanted to be away from her worries. She wanted to stay in that hug, without questions or explanations. When Raoul pulled Christine away from his embrace, his emblematic concerned frown came right back to his face again.

"Where have you been? What happened? My God, look at you…" he said.

His eyes were wide with fear as he looked down to her malnourished form. Her cheeks were hollowed and her eyes were just beginning to look sunken in. Her already petite frame was lacking substance and her posture suggested her obvious lack of proper nutrition. She'd already lost weight during her stay with Erik from the substantial lessening amount of food she ate, but after he'd locked her inside of the room, she wasn't going to dare and ask for another bite. Nearly three days she had gone without food, and water was very limited.

Raoul seemed to have a wash of realization from her appearance as he continued to look at her, because suddenly, a full counter of questions began to fly at her.

"Are you okay? Why are you crying? You're not hurt, are you? Where have you been?"

Christine held her hands up wearily, closing her eyes and shaking her head to try and rid herself of the third degree. The thought of answering even one exasperated her, but she knew Raoul would need to know something.

"I…"

"Christine, I've been worried sick about you," Raoul said.

"I'm sorry," she said helplessly.

Raoul sighed, taking her hands into his and pulling them into his lap. He looked down as he held tightly onto her, twisting his lip deep in thought. Christine could hardly stand to watch him calculate so much. She wondered what was going through his head.

"Raoul, I…" she tried, trying to find a way to explain. "I didn't mean to…"

"Are you trying to get away from me?" he asked sadly.

"Oh, Raoul," Christine said. "No, not at all."

"Then where have you been? I've been coming to your apartment every day for a week now, hoping that I'd run into you. I've looked for you at the university, in you're your department building, your classes, your work... I even called your parents. I was getting ready to call the police, for Gods sake! Where did you go after your gallery?"

The gallery… Christine nearly forgot that that was where it all started. The alley, actually, but until that point, Christine believed that anything between she and Erik was only from friendship. …wasn't it? The memories were dawning on Christine and she began to realize that it was his plan all along. He knew too much about her from the beginning and his actions were more than just that of a friendship. His protective qualities, his secretive ways of appearing to her, his being all too prepared after the gallery.

His tactics were so precise, and now he was making promises to always be present in her life… did that mean he was watching her now? But what did he have to protect her from in her own apartment?

"Raoul," Christine said hesitantly. "I want to tell you everything, but… I can't. Not here. I need to think things over and clear my mind. And I need to tell you away from here; Away from this place."

"Okay," Raoul said reluctantly. "But I don't understand, why do you need more time alone?"

"Please, just trust me," Christine said. "I know I've given you a lot of reasons not to trust me lately, but I am begging you to trust me now. And to help me."

"But how am I supposed to help me when you won't let me?" Raoul protested.

"Soon, you will know everything," Christine said. "But until then, I just need a little bit of time."

Raoul hung his head and shook it questioningly. He let a heavy sigh press from his lips and then looked up to Christine.

"Alright," he said. "I'll trust you."

Christine wrapped her arms around his torso and shivered against his embrace. It was so warm and welcoming, even in the cold of his mood. He had every right to be worried and frustrated with her, but she knew that she couldn't risk anything. Even in the moment, she could almost feel Erik's eyes glaring down on her from some unknown location. She tried to blame her paranoia, but her gut urged her otherwise.

"Thank you, Raoul," she said as she slipped out of the embrace.

"Keep your cell phone one, please," Raoul begged.

Christine nodded slowly, giving a faint smile.

"I will."

"I'll call you tonight…" Raoul said, trying to find his closing words.

"I promise, I'll answer," Christine said.

Her gratitude for Raoul's cooperation was immeasurable.

Raoul reached out and ran his hand over Christine's cheek, trying to hide his concern. He tried to speak a couple of separate times, but no words formed. His concern was still written inside of his eyes as he looked over her tarnished form. It was clear that he knew something was very wrong, but he didn't know what else to do for her. All Raoul had ever known to do for Christine in her hard times was to comfort her. Now that she didn't want it, he hardly knew how to react.

Since Raoul had reconnected with Christine at the University, she had become very independent. She had learned to do for herself because she felt that she couldn't fully trust those around her. After the history of her adolescence, Raoul couldn't blame her, so he made it a point to be the source of listening and understanding for Christine. This was a difficult position for him to be in now that he felt completely uncomfortable letting Christine act so strong.

She looked up to his concerned eyes and nodded lightly.

"I'll talk to you tonight?" she asked.

"I'll call you," Raoul said, almost sadly.

Slowly, he kissed her forehead and walked out of the door, turning for one last questioning glance before confirming Christine's wishes; silently praying she'd be alright.

* * *

><p>Raoul called early that night, and all of the nights that followed. He never asked when Christine planned to tell him what had kept her away from him for two weeks straight, but the pressing tone in his voice made it clear that he wanted to. She spoke sweetly to him, trying to relieve him in the meantime, but she knew he wouldn't feel calm until then. Even after she conjured up the courage, she knew he would not be at peace.<p>

The time meant to ease Christine's mind only left her more concerned. After refueling herself on food, Christine took a much needed shower, scrubbing off the grim and distress of her previous situation. She let the water pour over her head and run down her nose as she closed her eyes. After toweling off and stepping out from the tub, she swore she saw a pair of yellow cat-like eyes disappear just as she looked out the window.

Christine expected the regularity of her apartment and her routine to compose her, but it didn't. Truth was, she twitched at every slight sound or movement. She gasped as she swore she saw shadows passing by her in the dark. Surely, he was there, but as a week passed by, nothing more happened. There was no confirmation of his presence, and Christine finally began to breathe a sigh of relief.

She informed Raoul one night that she would be returning to painting for her graduation gallery.

Raoul praised her, asking if she were truly ready. She knew the true hint was there, asking if she were ready to tell him about her ordeal.

"Meet me tomorrow night?" Christine asked.

"Where? When?" Raoul asked in anticipation.

* * *

><p>Christine had finished three paintings in the course of her arriving to the studio that morning. Even without having a particular idea in mind, she just wanted to paint. And as each canvas was filled, her mind was eased, even if only a little. The week had dragged on, but the tasks required of her needed to be fulfilled, including returning to classes, making up for missed assignments, and making amends at her job. Her one day off, which should have been filled with make-up work, was instead spent where she felt most at home. It was the only place where she felt that Erik could not find her, since a student's ID card was required to get in. The art studio was the best place she could go to get away.<p>

There were no sightings of him elsewhere, but something deep in Christine's mind told her that he was really there. The presence she could feel as she moved about her home and the city made her weary, and she swore she could feel those piercing amber eyes on her while she was at the café for work. Even in class, she'd look up from her desk, expecting to see eyes beaming down on her, but every time, she was proven wrong. She couldn't help her sick paranoia, but welcomed the peace of mind as soon as she entered the dimly lit room full of art supplies.

The three paintings were lined up beside each other, and Christine looked at them helplessly. While they were helpful in a therapeutic sense, they weren't anything she would dare put into a gallery. They pointed too much to her ordeal, one of them even being too suggestive and grotesque for the audiences she wished to reach.

She sighed heavily.

Her mind kept telling her how much time she had lost during her two weeks of absence. She needed to keep busy and finish important work according to her fast-paced brain, but her heart ached, knowing that she would never be the same again.

The man who had saved her… not only did he protect her, but he very well may have saved her life. He'd saved her, but what for? She was in even worse of a state after her time with him, knowing that the man who saved her was very different than the man who lived beneath the mask. The man who saved her – her guardian of sorts – was kind and gentle, and responsible for her protection. But Erik was cruel and unforgiving, all while hiding under the façade of a mask.

Christine had seen her share of people with malformations. They walked freely amongst others, baring no shame and living normal lives. The only extra attention they received was from a silent bidding of pity from those who passed. They were just like anybody else in the world, even earning the love from others in return.

Though Christine had never seen anything quite like Erik's face, she knew she could look at him and love him. For after the time they had spent together she had learned to appreciate and show her affections for him without even knowing what his face looked like at all. She grew to be fond of his character, so much so that she initiated a kiss. How could such a beast emerge from one who showed such beauty? Through his writing and through his spirit, he truly was an angel.

Christine shook her head to remove thoughts of him from her mind. There could be no more wondering about Erik now. Her body still ached from his abuse and her mind still quivered at the very thought of him. She could still see his eyes burning with a murderous hatred every night while she slept…

Taking a quick look at the clock, it was 5:26. Raoul was to arrive at any moment. Christine looked at the paintings behind her and shook her head. Such a shame that she'd have to remove them.

Without hesitating, Christine stacked them on top of each other, allowing their still wet faces to smear together and ruin the images. She placed them face down in a holding rack to dry, but knew that she would be disposing of them later in the dumpster. Just as she turned to put away her brushes, she could see the image of Raoul walking down the brightly lit hallway toward the double doors. He waved to Christine, gesturing for her to allow him inside. Though the campus IDs worked for many areas for a student to get through, select places were enabled only for students within the department. Christine's ID had special access to places like the studio.

Christine threw the brushes in the sink as she passed and went to the door, pulling the door open after hearing an audible double beep and a click.

Raoul walked inside slowly, cautious to Christine's actions and gave her a firm hug. Christine was hesitant at first, and a bit ashamed at how much she had been thinking of Erik and how little of Raoul, but then she fell into his embrace.

"How are you?" Christine asked, implying the torturous week of wondering she'd put him through.

"I'm alright," Raoul said, a bit surprised. "How are _you?_"

Christine shrugged, still unsure how she was. Raoul could feel the simple movement under his embrace. He cupped his hand over the back of her head and leaned over to kiss her forehead. She knew he couldn't bare to be questioning any longer, but she just wanted to hold onto the embrace for just a moment more. She leaned her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, taking in the scent of his cologne.

As Christine opened her eyes, she looked out from the slanted window of the doors behind them and could see no light. A large black shadow was cast over the entire paneled window within the door. Christine pulled away from Raoul, letting out a gasp.

Raoul tried to grab hold of her arm, asking her what was wrong, but as Christine unraveled herself from Raoul's embrace, she looked back to the door's window and saw the iridescent lighting through the hallway leading down toward the exit. The shadow was gone.

Christine held her hand over her heart, trying to maintain her breathing again. Raoul looked behind him, trying to match Christine's vision to see what frightened her. He looked back and forth between the door and Christine before he reached out and grabbed her arms.

"What is it?" he asked nervously.

"It's… nothing," Christine said.

_Just another one of Erik's tricks,_ she figured. Surely not caused by Erik himself, but by the ghost that seemed always present within her mind. His promise was beginning to seem more real…

Breaking from his grip, Christine began to walk across the gallery, pacing nervously and covering her muttering mouth with her hand. Was the shadow real, or just another false vision? Could she out-run this shadow, or would it follow her wherever she dared to go? It must have been worth a shot…

"Christine?" Raoul asked nervously.

"Follow me," she said instantly.

Raoul kept close behind her as she went to the opposite side of the studio and used her ID to unlock the door on the opposite end of the room. She nearly trotted, she was moving so quickly, but Raoul kept up with her pace, holding onto her hand as they went.

Christine seemed frantic, stopping at times and then listening before pulling at Raoul's hand again and saying, "this way," or "over here." She was watching and listening for anything to either deny or confirm her intuitions, when finally, she looked to a door leading to a stairwell that read "Maintenance Only." She looked cautiously behind her for a long moment, and then slipped her ID over the lock, jumping at the sound of a successful double beep and click. She turned and looked to Raoul with surprise in her eyes and then grabbed hold of the door before their allowed entrance time expired. Raoul hesitated, but Christine continued to pull at his arm until he finally yielded and they went straight up three stories until reaching one final pair of double doors that led them to the roof.


	15. Escape the Stars

_**Author's Note:** Yup, this is the roof scene. :) It was hard because I didn't want to retell what you all already know, but I also know that Raoul needed to be informed. I wanted his reactions, as well as some of his comments to be heard. I want to put in a reminder that Raoul is sort of dealing with a lot here... Finally hearing Christine's story, hearing her defense for the crazy masked guy, not being able to really do anything for her... lots to deal with. _

_This chapter came up much more quickly than I had expected it to, but I am pleased that I did get it done at such a nice pace. I already have an idea for the next chapter, but I am going to keep that a surprise until it happens. Just as random note, I am still not sure if this story is going to end with Christine being with Raoul or Erik. That's right, I haven't decided yet! I have ideas for both scenarios, but I need to see where the following details take us, as well as how I am feeling when I actually go to write it. :) Anyway, hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading!_

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

><p>The doors to the roof flung open as Christine pulled Raoul from the depths of the concrete stairwell. Raoul never imagined her grip could manage such strength until she turned around to face the doors behind them, whipping Raoul around to stand behind her. She stood staring down the door, her breath quaking as her free hand rested against her chest. She held her arms out in front of Raoul as some sort of protection, seeming to wait for somebody to come through it, but nothing appeared before them. Raoul looked around as well, trying to figure out what it was she was looking for, but without an explanation, he rested his hand on her shoulder, giving Christine a start. She turned to face him with tears streaming down her face.<p>

Raoul took a step back, coupling her tear-filled eyes with her still recovering appearance. He nearly gasped as he pulled her into his arms held her head close against his chest.

"My God, Christine," he whispered to her fearfully. "What's happened to you?"

He spoke more to himself as she buried her face deeper into his embrace, trying to escape the impending feeling of Erik's eyes still cast upon her. It was like she was still inside of his basement dwelling, only now the danger felt all the more real.

"Raoul," Christine whispered into him.

"It's okay," Raoul cooed.

"We need to leave New York," Christine said, keeping her voice low.

Raoul tensed against her embrace and didn't say a word. He slowly pulled her away from him and held her out at an arm's distance, looking into her swollen eyes with concern.

"Leave?" he said.

Christine nodded like a child.

"I...I don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "What's happened?"

The way he asked hinted at a level of frustration.

"I promised I'd tell you…" Christine said, reminding herself more than anything.

Raoul nodded, concern and worry filling his expression.

Christine looked up to him and sighed, feeling the anxiety of what she'd done fill her. She looked around the roof, thankful there was still a setting sun to see the surface of the space they stood. She could see nobody but the distant souls inside of buildings beyond their reach. They were shadows against the harsh yellow glow of fluorescent lights or the flicker of blues behind their televisions.

As much as Christine felt there was danger all around them, she pulled Raoul by the hands to the edge of the building and gestured for him to sit with her.

"I'm so sorry, Raoul," she said, holding onto his hands and observing them as if it could possibly be the last time she'd see them again.

"Christine, you're making me nervous," he said.

"I don't even know how to start," Christine said anxiously.

Raoul sighed heavily and Christine reached her hand up to trace his jaw line. She knew he needed to know, because she cared for him too deeply to not tell him. He needed to know because if he didn't, she may easily fall victim to Erik again…

Christine sighed.

"It started one of the nights I was preparing for my gallery," Christine started. "I was up late working on some of my final pieces, when I realized how late it was. I decided to take an alternate route to my apartment. I was turning down an alley when…when I was attacked..."

"Christine!" Raoul cried, reaching out for her.

"No, Raoul, please, let me finish everything first," she said, pulling away from him.

She knew she'd have to finish, but she was so afraid that he'd never forgive her.

"A man was…trying to… take advantage of me…" she forced herself to say. "But he didn't! Because before he could, another man came in and saved me."

Why was this so difficult for her to tell Raoul? It seemed so easy with Erik…

_No, stop. _

"He got me away from him, though I had been knocked unconscious. When I woke up, he was there and he'd been taking care of me. He told me I was safe, and even though he wore the mask and the room was dark, I believed him," Christine said.

"Wore a mask?" Raoul asked, appalled.

"Yes, he did. I never really questioned it," Christine said simply. "It never seemed to be an issue. He kept me safe until I was able to go home and it was never spoken of."

Christine sat thoughtfully, not seeming to care even now about the mask. It was as if she saw the mask as a true face; like the façade the man wore was more trustworthy than the image beneath it.

"The night after I was returned home, I was so afraid to walk home after painting by myself," Christine was beginning to shake. "But as I walked out from the studio, the man was there again. He was returning my jacket and then he offered to take me home. I couldn't refuse his offer... And so for the following nights, it became our ritual: He'd wait for me at the studio each night and he'd walk me home, making sure I was safe the entire way."

"Christine, I talked to you quite a few times on the last few weeks before your gallery and even asked if you wanted company…" Raoul said pressingly.

His tone was sad, though still stern, realizing that the result of the story may not end how he'd like it to. Christine shook her head, already feeling the shame wash over her.

"You know how I am, Raoul. I never like to ask for help—"

"But you seemed to accept his help quite easily," Raoul protested.

"I—I know. I'm sorry, I don't know why I did, really... I don't know why I did a lot of the things I did. But Raoul, please, at least let me finish… I know you have every right to be upset with me, and you'll have even more reason to be in the end. But I need you to know that I made a big mistake, and that I can't ever see him again. I can't!"

Raoul's eyes were hard with jealousy, but as he saw the fear inside of her eyes as she looked around the building's surface again – as if she had heard something he couldn't – his glare softened.

"Go on," he managed to say.

"Okay," Christine said shyly.

She took in a deep breath, eyeing her surroundings suspiciously. The pressure she felt as Raoul watched her felt so much like the constant glare of Erik…

"I invited him to the gallery. I was actually even thinking that the two of you could possibly meet, but as I waited through the night, he never showed up. At least, he didn't until the gallery was over. It was after you and everybody else had left and I was almost all cleaned up, and he came up behind me. Then he offered to take me out… to the river, of all places. I tried to tell him that I had plans with you… but…"

Christine trailed off, realizing that she hadn't told him she had plans. In fact, she couldn't even recall ever mentioning that she had a boyfriend to him. She went the entire time with him assuming she was single. She recalled him approaching her in the gallery and commenting on the painting that seemed to gain her such attention. He was flattered that she'd painted something involving him, yet she told him that she did it because she truly felt she understood the topic. There were no paintings that were intended for Raoul that night, nor ever in her recent works… Yet she attempted to understand him. Erik.

She closed her eyes in shame and shook her head.

"But you didn't," Raoul said flatly.

"He just started taking me," Christine said, trying to defend herself. "I never said anything for or against it, but next thing I knew, he was leading me through the city, in all of its darkest spots toward the river… When we got there, he was so quiet. He hardly said anything without my asking questions, and I guess by the way he was acting, I should have known that I was getting myself into trouble… but by then, I knew I wouldn't have been able to escape. It was then that I remembered our reservations. I told Erik I'd have to leave, but he wouldn't let me…"

"Ah, so he has a name after all," Raoul conceded.

"Raoul, please," Christine begged.

"So you did remember me at some point," Raoul said.

"Stop," Christine tried.

"Christine, if this is your way of breaking up with me, please just spare me the details and let it be," Raoul said. "I'd rather not waste anymore of our time with the story of your 'hero.'"

"Raoul," Christine said angrily. "I am not breaking up with you. I am telling you this because, as the guy that I'm in love with, you need to know! I'm telling you all of this because I'm scared that I even now, I am not safe. I need you to believe in me, but if you can't, then I might as well just spare your feelings and mine while going back to hiding."

His eyes were wide with horror and surprise. She'd never so openly mentioned being in love with him, but to couple the information with her safety left Raoul uncertain how to react. The emotion behind her eyes was evident, and the pleading in her voice brought him to offer his hands to her, pulling her in close to his chest again, truly holding her as if she was only his.

"I'm sorry," Raoul said, holding back a tear of his own. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I didn't... realize."

Christine was now crying again, pulling herself back into his chest.

"I know it must all be awful for you to hear, but promise me that you'll help me," Christine begged.

"Yes," Raoul said. "Yes, anything."

Christine straightened up and allowed her breathing to soften again. She hardly allowed herself the opportunity to cry so openly with herself, but now she knew she had to release all that she'd been holding in.

"I love you," Christine said, smiling through her tears.

Raoul knew for a while that he loved Christine, but he smiled widely as Christine now found it within her sheltered heart to say it back.

"I love you, too," Raoul said with pride.

Christine flinched, darting to look around the department's roof again, and even went so far as to stand up and look around her. She held onto Raoul's hand as he joined her to stand, looking as well, but unsure what he was looking for. As their eyes met, Christine's worry brought her lips to tremble.

"Maybe we should leave," she said nervously.

"Please, Chris, tell me everything," he said, urging her to sit again.

"Yes, but not here," she said.

"Why not here? There's nobody around," Raoul said.

"I just feel like…"

She trailed off, distantly taking another sweep of the building, taking an extra hard look at the solid double doors leading back down into the building. She seemed to peer into the cracks of the door, expecting to see a shadow standing behind it, when there proved to be none.

Raoul tugged at her hand and she took her seat across from him again, holding onto his hands as she slipped them into her lap.

"So… I told Erik that I had to leave, but that was when he suddenly got defensive. He said I couldn't leave, and then held onto me as I tried to walk away. I fought a little harder to break his grip, but that was when he grabbed onto me and forced some sort of sleeping pill down my throat. It was strange, but as I fell into being unconscious, he kept apologizing…

"When I woke, I was back in the same place I'd woken in after I was… attacked in the alley. The room was exactly the same, but the man was not there. I thought I was alone, but when I tried to call for help, he came and told me that I couldn't be heard and that I was not allowed to leave for two weeks; that in two weeks, I would no longer be afraid of him. I didn't know what else to do but to accept… after all that he had done for me, I felt obligated, but then after being kidnapped by him, I was worried at what would happen next…

"The place that I stayed in was some sort of basement. It had two rooms and a washroom as well. There was no running water, electricity or gas, but Erik had quite the arrangement to keep us going. He fed me, he allowed me time to freshen up and shower, and he kept me entertained in conversation as well as allowing me to cover a wall full of my drawings. He was incredibly smart and loved to read and write. But most of all, he made sure that I was comfortable. He was quite kind, really… I began to feel comforted by his presence, because I truly believed that he would protect me against anybody who tried to hurt me..."

Raoul turned away from Christine, feeling unease by her compliments of the man who she claimed to be afraid of. She hardly seemed to notice, for she was looking out toward the setting sun, watching the clouds roll over each other in the distance.

"Christine, there is a big difference between removing you from a bad situation and keeping you away from one," Raoul said cautiously.

Christine hardly seemed to listen, for she was still looking off into the distance. Raoul followed her eyes, curious if she might have seen what she seemed so afraid of, but the clouds in the winter sky were uniquely beautiful despite the chilly forecast. The sun peaked through just enough to grace their presence and keep their minds slightly more at peace.

"I'd grown to be comfortable in the basement room and even in his presence," Christine said with a hint of regret in her tone. She turned to Raoul. "I guess that's when I was truly closest to loosing you."

Raoul shook his head, shocked with her straightforwardness.

"Thank God I didn't," she said. "Because when I realized he was not all I thought he was, I didn't think I was going to live!"

Her grip reached up to Raoul's jacket and she pulled him closer into her, wrapping her arms around him as if she needed to be shielded from the vision she was having of his rage.

"Oh, Raoul, it was awful! And you may never forgive me, but – God, I hope you do – but I made a huge mistake…"

"It's okay, Christine, I—"

"I kissed him, Raoul."

Raoul stiffened against her embrace. Christine quickly pulled away and held her hands to his face, hoping she could get him to look into her eyes.

"I did; I kissed him. And I'm so sorry," she pleaded. "Not only because I feel awful for it, but because it was when I realized he's so horrible!"

Another sharp turn of Christine's head and she was searching across the rooftop again, her eyes large and rounded and her head darting like a petrified sparrow.

"Did you hear that?" Christine asked.

"No," Raoul said, still trying to regain his anger and shock. "I didn't hear anything."

"I can't even get him out of my mind now, even after it's all over," Christine said, tears filling her eyes. "I swear, it's like I can never get away from him."

"What happened, Christine?" Raoul urged. "You are safe here, I promise. But please, tell me what he did."

Christine drew in a breath, trying to steady herself in her seated position. She closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head, as if replaying her horror inside of her mind, and then opened them as she bit her lip.

"I removed his mask," Christine said.

Raoul shook his head, unsure what to think of her confession.

"He wears the mask to cover a deformity he has," Christine said. "It was hard to look at, but his reaction was much worse. It was unbearable… he screamed at me, and grabbed hold of me, shaking me as he spoke to me! The way he talked to me – Oh, Raoul – I thought he would have killed me then and there. I tried to comfort him and tell him that his face didn't bother me, but he wouldn't let me get a word in. He was obsessed with the idea that nobody could accept him without the mask on. I kept trying to calm him down, but then he slapped me and then dragged me across the room."

"That's it," Raoul cried out. "How do we find him, Christine? He can't get away for what he's done to you! We have to tell the police."

"No," Christine protested. "We can't do anything about it now, we just need to get away from here."

"Christine, he's abused you!"

"I angered him; he would never really hurt me," Christine said.

"He held you hostage for two weeks!" Raoul said.

"But he saved my life!"

"That is the number one reason we should tell the police," Raoul said.

"No, Raoul, you can't say anything!" Christine said fiercely.

Raoul shook his head in disbelieve. His eyes were wild with resistance but Christine stood her ground, now raising herself up onto her knees and looking down to Raoul in defiance. She knew she could never tell him that he killed the man who tried to rape her. He would never leave the issue at peace…

"So you are just going to let him continue living his normal life?" Raoul demanded.

"Yes, as normal a life as he can make for himself," Christine said.

"And you're going to continue living in fear, just like you are now, that he is going to come and find you again?"

"No, we are going to leave the city," Christine said.

"We can't do that," Raoul said. "I can't… I have a job, and grants for my schooling, and a dorm. I can't just leave everything that easily. You're parents may be able to afford your flighty needs, but mine can't."

Christine looked down, having not considered the thought. It would be difficult even for her to get away from her life in the city, but to go about life without Raoul, especially after now, would be unlivable.

"You're right," Christine said finally.

"Then we will go to the police?" Raoul asked.

"No…" Christine said nervously.

"Christine, we have to," he urged.

"No, Raoul, I can't… not after everything he's done—"

"Yes; _because_ of everything he's done! Look at you: you're running to rooftops, scared out of your mind because of a masked genius who you believe is stalking you. You have every right to go to the police, Christine. It's the only logical thing to do."

Christine considered the idea. If she went to the police, she'd have to tell them everything: the abuse, the kidnapping, the murder… she would have to stand trial against Erik. If she didn't go to the police, the possibility that he could find her again was always available. But would he take it? He granted Christine her freedom, after all…

"I'm sorry, Raoul, but I just can't do that to him," she said.

"I think you're making a huge mistake," Raoul said.

"Promise me, Raoul, that you won't go on my behalf," Christine said.

"I can't promise that," Raoul said.

Christine reached up and grabbed hold of his jacket again, tugging on his hood strings and pulling him down and closer to her face. Her eyes were fierce with demand and her lip was straight and stern.

"Promise me, Raoul," Christine begged.

With a sigh, Raoul shook his head and reached his hand out to cup Christine's cheek in his palm. She was so determined, and he couldn't understand why, except that she may have feelings for the man. It was evident that she did, yet her words against him seemed so harsh. Why would she still feel the need to defend him if she honestly felt he was a threat to her now?

"Okay," Raoul grumbled, obviously hesitant to consent.

"Thank you," Christine mouthed.

She pulled him in close and wrapped her arms around his neck, taking his lips in a deep kiss. Raoul was taken back at first, having not had the affections of his girlfriend in sometime now. She was never the one to initiate a kiss, but now she was holding him close and begging for his consent. He accepted her kiss willingly, and even pulled her in a little closer, running his hand through her hair and tilting her back within his embrace. Christine laughed softly into his mouth, pleased with his trademark charm.

As Christine pulled away, she swore she saw the glow of two large stars in the evening, peaking out of the now ashy colored sky. She froze in Raoul's arms, tensing as they remained locked on her, just like she remembered from her first day in Erik's dwelling. Christine stared at the stars, trying to make out if they were shining through the clouds or in front of them. She knew…

She closed her eyes and rested her chin on Raoul's shoulder. Trying to put the glowing lights out of her mind, she sighed and remained in her new protector's embrace. Raoul was meant to be her protector all along. And even in the darkness of her time spent with Erik, he granted her freedom. And these stars staring down on her were granting it.


	16. The Winter

_**Author's Note:** Hello everybody! Thanks for stopping by to read tonight... this chapter is a bit of a filler, but another piece of the puzzle that is going to lead to some of the juicy bits. You'll see... I'm happy that I was able to get this done literally RIGHT before leaving for my first class of the year. Hoping my time off for school allows me more time for writing, as backwards as that sounds. Thanks again to all of you for the wonderful comments and reviews. Keep them coming; it really keeps me motivated! This is another POV chapter, but it is in Raoul's perspective. I've pondered doing another from Erik, but it's sort of important that I don't get into his head for a bit here. So maybe later :) Please remember that little comment box on the bottom of the page there, and leave me something nice... it really does motivate me to get chapters done more quickly, and I also love feedback! Thank you all again, wonderful readers!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p><em>Time seemed to drag immediately after Christine's narration of her kidnapping. We left the university behind us and I walked her home, trying to gage her emotions the entire way. At times, I felt she was tense, but every now and then, she would exhale a deep breath and seem to drop every worry off her shoulders. She refused to take the subway, so we walked her normal route from the art studio to her apartment. I was surprised that she was so willing to walk in the same path that had been so emotive for her in the last month, but as we kept to our silence, she was suddenly pointing out the very alley that she was nearly killed in. She wouldn't speak of her abductor, though.<em>

_I tried to ask her more about him, but she shook her head each time and replied, "I don't know."_

_She didn't seem to know anything about him, except that he saved her life and that he was different than any other man she'd met. But how? I couldn't help but notice the flaw in her story, knowing that she was often standoffish around other guys. Christine was one of the friendliest girls I'd ever known, but her reaction towards any guy trying to make a pass at her was harsh. Understandably so, knowing her past circumstances. And being the only person to know her history, I was apathetic toward her reactions. I liked to still think that I was still the only person to know her story…_

_As we arrived at her apartment, she grabbed hold of my arms and asked me to come inside. I was glad to offer to stay the night. I made my spot on the couch and remained there for the remainder of the week. The first few nights, her sleep was limited by her waking in cold sweats and dreams that persistently haunted her. Christine never mentioned what images filled her mind in these dreams, but I could only imagine._

_After the first week, I found myself being woken by Christine on my spot on the couch. She sat timidly beside me and pressed lightly on my side, gently trying to wake me from my sleep. My eyes shot open, fearful that something was wrong, but when I looked to her wide eyes, I tried to calm my demeanor._

_"What's wrong?" I asked._

_"I…can't sleep," she admitted, sounding ashamed ashamed._

_Trying to push away the fatigue, I smiled and sat up on the couch, letting the sheets that wrapped around me fall to my waist. I held onto her hands and pulled her into my arms, wrapping them around her tightly and rubbing her back. I held on to her, partially to keep her feeling safe inside of my comfort, but also trying to keep her in my grasp. I considered that despite the whole ordeal being revolved around Christine's misfortune, I couldn't help but believe that I too had fallen victim to the mad-man's curse. I was dealing with the aftermath as much as Christine. I was feeling the fear, the worry, the fatigue, and the looming presence of someone's haunting glare all the time. The major difference was that I was completely blind to what extent we were dealing with this mess._

_I knew the moment she began to cry. She nestled her nose against my shoulder and seemed to dab her eyes against my neck, trying to hide it – one of her favorite flaws of mine that I was just beginning to learn about her. In the midst of the times we were facing, I was learning more about her that I loved._

_"Raoul," she whispered into my shirt._

_"Hmm?"_

_"Will you lay down with me?"_

_I never expected her to ask this of me; not any time this soon. Knowing her private nature, I never expected it. But the way that she looked at me – half ashamed to break some sort of promise to herself and half afraid that I would refuse – I smiled at her and helped her up to her feet._

_"Yes; if you'd like me to. Of course."_

_It took her quite some time to comfortably fall asleep. Her anxiety for being so close to a guy in bed was apparent, and it was proven when I found myself waking in the morning, knowing that I had drifted off to sleep before she did. Now, she was resting peacefully by my side, knocked out from the weight of her swollen eyes and breathing more steadily than I had seen in over a month. I took the liberty of her unknowing state to simply stare at her._

_I knew she was uncomfortable with people staring at her, and I knew her bravery this entire time had been tested, but I couldn't help but notice how beautiful really she was, even in the deepness of her sleep. Her hair was framing her face, with a slight crease across her cheek from the pillow that she'd just turned from. Her legs curled up close to her chest in the early morning chill and her arms crossed in front of her, resting just above her knees. I pulled up the comforter and settled it over her shoulders, allowing my fingers to graze over her arms._

_Each night from then, she timidly found a way to ask if I would be sleeping beside her again. I didn't want to push the matter, but I was more than happy to oblige. It became our routine eventually, and by the end of the school semester, she was sleeping at a regular schedule and allowing me to hold her in my arms as we drifted to our dreams._

_Occasionally, she would wake us both with a start, gasping for breath and lifting out of the covers. I'd hold her while she cried, stroking her hair and letting her emote the stress of her nightmares before pulling her back down to the pillow and coaxing her back to sleep. I believed her when she said that she was fine and together we would be safe again in our embrace. It was nights like this I would fall asleep with a wary gratitude for the events that had drawn Christine and I closer together. Now, she was able to see just how much I cared for her, and even though she was somewhat forced into having to trust me, she was now aware of how much I cared for her wellbeing._

_After I began to feel a change in Christine's behavior, time began to pick up. We spent our time for winter break together non-stop and it was as if I never lived in the dormitories. We'd been closer than I'd ever expected to be and it was a pleasure to always be with the girl I loved. She began to tell me that she loved me, openly holding my hand and pulling me toward her lips for a kiss._

_To me, it meant the spell was broken. Christine's nightmares were dying down and her constant searching for a face in the darkness had disappeared._

_She spent Christmas Eve with my family and then I dropped her off at her family's house for Christmas day. That evening, I enjoyed picking her up to travel back to the city, where her family kindly accepted me for dinner. From the way her dad shook my hand, I felt it was a sign of acceptance into his family. They were completely unaware of their daughter's situation, and as uncomfortable as it made me feel, I at least felt progress in our relationship together._

_Our train ride home was in silence as she fell asleep in my arms, only to wake for our transfer from the train to the subway system below. As we exited the green line, we emerged to the fresh falling snow. Christine looked up into the clouds and smiled, welcoming another chilly evening for the close of a beautiful Christmas together. I pulled her in tightly, wrapping my arms around her and resting my head against her shoulder. We stood for a moment, bundled against each other from the cold, until I felt her shoulders grow stiff in an instant. Her breathing stopped completely for a moment, and her eyes stared directly in front of us._

_I strained my vision, trying to see if I could find the source of her discomfort, but I saw nothing. I turned in front of her and held onto her arms, looking down into her distant blue eyes._

_"What's wrong?" I asked._

_She continued to stare, unphased by my blocking her, and then a weak smile passed across her lips._

_"Nothing," she said in a far-off voice._

_"Christine…?"_

_"hmm?" she said absently._

_I turned and looked again, but could still see nothing but the glow of two lights in the distances. She closed her eyes then and seemed to be hearing some remote lullaby. Her lips were pale and her cheeks were turning red from the burn of the snow that was now beginning to fall harder._

_"Christine, what is it?" I asked, pulling now on her arms to face a different direction._

_"What?" she asked, blinking her eyes open wildly and looking about herself, embarrassed. "What is it, Raoul?"_

_"You're acting like someone is watching you…" I said cautiously, hoping not to frighten her anymore._

_"Oh! No…" Christine said, resting her hand over her heart. "I'm sorry, it's nothing, I swear."_

_I didn't feel fully convinced, for she seemed so absolutely spellbound, but she smiled at me so sweetly and shook her head so apologetically…_

_"It's just been such a nice holiday, and I'm so glad that I could have spent it with you," Christine said. "and now, with the snow… it just makes everything feel so perfect."_

_I looked down to her smile and pressed my lips against it, pulling her in close to me again and rocking her back and forth._

_"I'm glad," I told her, absolutely relieved._

_The snow was really beginning to pick up, but neither of us seemed to care much. We were captivated by each others presence. I scooped her head back up again in my palm and pulled her lips back up to mine. The two puffs of air that pressed out of our mouths met together, disappearing underneath the heat of our mouths joining together. I could feel her smile spreading wider. I knew how much I loved her._

_The New Year rolled past in the flash and soon the harsh storms of winter began to take hold of the city. A coat of white blanketed all of us in and Christine and I spent our time by the television, wrapped underneath a blanket and amongst each others legs. Life felt so normal as we had began to dive into our spring semester at the university. We both kept busy in our jobs and homework, and Christine often made trips down to the studio to work on paintings for her graduation gallery. Despite often coming home frustrated in her lack of inspiration, she was the happiest I'd ever seen her._

_One night, after an evening shift at the café, Christine came in the apartment door and ran around the corner wall into the living room with snow still falling off of her shoulders. She laughed as she brushed it off and shrugged, saying that it would dry eventually. As she made her way to the kitchen to sample the plate of leftover Mexican food I'd left for her, I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out a folded up sheet of paper. The neon orange color caught Christine's attention and she stopped after spooning a fork-full of rice into her mouth. She cupped her hand underneath her mouth and chewed while looking across to the flyer to read._

_"A Mardi Gras party?" she questioned._

_"Yeah, I heard about it last year but sorta forgot about it," I said. "It sounded kind of fun."_

_"I didn't think that sounded like your sort of thing," Christine said._

_I knew that was really her saying that it wasn't her sort of thing. I walked over beside her to the counter and passed over a foil bag full of tortillas she'd overlooked._

_"It just sounds different," I said. "It's a masked party."_

_"A masquerade?" Christine questioned._

_"Yeah; it's down in Chelsea. I just thought you should maybe take a night off from everything for a little fun. Maybe even for a bit of inspiritation."_

_Christine's glance fell to the floor.. She placed the fork against the Styrofoam box and rested her back against the cupboards for support. Her expression was troubled, and I reached out and held onto her hand._

_"It's not supposed to be too big of a deal," I said trying to ease the anxiety I could see. "I heard last year's didn't have too much of a turn out. Maybe it will be the same this year?"_

_"Oh, no… I'm sure it will be fine," Christine said, shaking her head. "I just… I guess it's just the thought of masks…"_

_I nearly cursed out loud for not thinking that over before. What I thought would be a good way to get Christine out into the public again had turned into a mockery. I held her hands up to my lips and kissed each of them quickly._

_"I'm sorry, Chris," I said quickly. "I didn't even think about it..."_

_"No, no," she said. "It's fine. This will be good. I need to move past it."_

_"But it's too soon,' I told her._

_"No, you're right. I know you are trying to help me, and this is a good idea," she said. "It's how it should be done, really. When else will I be able to see so many masks at once?"_

_"True, but are you sure you'll be able to handle it?" I asked._

_"Yeah, I think I can," she said with a nod to try and further convince herself. "I'm not scheduled to work anyway."_

_I nodded slowly, turning from Christine to get a soda from the fridge._

_"Alright then, we'll go. This Friday."_

_With a snap of the tab, the soda fizzed underneath my finger tip and I could barely hear the exhale of air that Christine let out, bracing herself for the night to come._


	17. Mardi Gras Masquerade

_**Author's Note:** First off, I'd like to point out that my version of Christine is a bit older than she normally is made out to be (since it seems it is taking longer for young adults to get out of college/start real life. Point in case... ME!). So she is 23 in my story, which makes he legal to drink. Now that that is out of the way, I felt like this chapter is unique in many ways. I'll let you find those out as you read. Also, I feel that I am cheating myself out a bit in potential reviews since I am posting two chapters one right after the other. I'm hoping that ya'll can be amazing and review accordingly :) ddhhjjjjjjjjjjjjjj - my dog's 2 cents. Hope you all enjoy this chapter and please don't forget the lovely little comment box on the bottom!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>Christine's unease had nearly vanished by the time she began to get dressed for the Mardi Gras Masquerade. She held the dress she'd picked out earlier that week up to herself and stood in front of her mirror, spinning back and forth watching the colors swirl and twinkle against the light. She slipped the cotton material on, letting it fall just above her knees. It was a simple black tank-top dress, but individually sewn all over it were sequence of a bright magenta that made the entire dress look like a disco ball. Strewn around her neck were party beads of purple, pink and green and in her hands, she held onto a thin slip of a black mask with green and pink feathers weighting down the left side. It covered just over her eyes and on the top of her nose, making herself still recognizable to anyone who may pass. She kept it in her hand as she stared at the entire ensemble, admiring her luck in finding such a fitting dress for the occasion. She didn't want to put the mask on quite yet, though.<p>

"Almost ready?" Raoul called from the other room.

Slipping on her black heeled shoes, Christine hopped in place before stumbling out of the room, trying to latch her heels as she walked. Raoul was standing in the center of the living room, his hand reaching into his pocket to pull out his cell phone to catch the time. He turned as Christine lost her balance, clipping the heel on just in time to stamp against the ground and announce her presence.

"Wow," he said, watching her straighten herself out. "You look great!"

"Thanks," Christine said, smiling at him.

She looked over his steel-grey pants and bright green button-up shirt, smiling at the perfect touch with his sequenced fedora and vest.

"I'm loving this," she said walking over to him and pulling at the vest, turning it back and forth to watch the colors blend.

"We actually go together really well," Raoul remarked.

"And you're just realizing this?" Christine joked as she pulled him into her arms by the vest.

Raoul laughed as his lips found hers and they stayed a moment in each others arms. Raoul gave another quick kiss before pulling Christine out at his arm's length and looking her over again. He shook his head, clearly satisfied with what he saw, and then took another quick glance at his cell phone.

"We should get going," he said.

"Alright," Christine said, reaching out to the couch to grab a small pocket clutch.

She wrapped the small zip-up bag around her wrist and checked the inside to ensure her key, money and ID was inside. Giving Raoul a quick nod, they were out the door and on their way toward the subway station.

Though Chelsea was within reasonable walking distance, Raoul was determined to get Christine used to the idea of riding the subway for safety. He felt safer when she was surrounded by more people in transit, though Christine still loved to walk. Tonight especially, he knew that his girlfriend would be getting extra looks. Normally, it wouldn't bother him, but anymore, he had grown especially protective of Christine.

On the train alone, they were lucky to avoid too much attention. A loud group seeming to be heading toward the same party were in the train next to them and they already reeked of alcohol and marijuana.

As they arrived at their final destination, they exited with the group and walked up the stairs to a vibrant wash of yellow and red lights. Crowds were formed in small clusters, but as they made their way closer to the booming speakers of the DJ, the crowd grew into a sea of bodies. The pulsing of the music pressed against Christine's chest, rattling her heart against her ribs with its force. Raoul held onto Christine's hand as he guided her along, pulling her through bodies of partiers who were dressed in an array of different costumes. Some looked like they were ready for a Halloween party, while others were in short dresses and stilettos. The variety was immeasurable, making Christine and Raoul's outfits seem to meet right in the center of the mix.

Masks of all shapes and sizes whirled around Christine, starting with small Venetian style masks, gripping onto the end of a thin stick, to those ending with gruesome costume pieces made to look like symbolic figures or cartoon characters. A bald clown with a cigarette made Christine the most uncomfortable at the time. His lifeless eyes kept looking in her direction, and occasionally she could hear the laugh of somebody within the bizarre embodiment.

Raoul turned and pulled Christine into him past a group of girls grinding up against their partners. Christine turned her glance away from them, feeling she was being invasive by watching and looked up to Raoul. He pulled her ear closer to him and spoke loudly into her hear, saying "I didn't think it would be this crazy."

"Maybe we should stick more on the outskirts," Christine suggested.

Raoul nodded and came back in Christine's direction, when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, startled, and noticed a group of guys holding their drinks in the air with smiles across their mouths. All of them wore undemanding masks, with a simple elastic string pulling a bright oval across their brow. The one to first call to Raoul was easily recognizable to Christine; he shared the dorm room with Raoul. The others were more friends of friends if anything, but Raoul seemed to be pleased to see them all as each of their faces were revealed.

"How's it going?" the first asked Raoul. His name was Steven.

"Pretty good," Raoul said, giving him a firm shake of the hand. "What's up, guys?"

A communal exchange of nods and shakes took place. Christine kept behind Raoul, trying to avoid being stepped on by the daggers of heels dancing behind her. The girl was so engaged in her partner's thrusting that she paid little attention to the space around her, as was the case with the rest of the crowd. She turned just as Steven caught her eye.

"Hey, Christine," he said with a short wave. "Good to see you again."

Christine returned the gesture, smiling at him and then to the rest of the guys now focused on her.

"Yeah, Ricky, Jake, Mike; this is my girlfriend, Christine," Raoul said, reaching behind him and pulling Christine closer to the center of their formed circle.

"Ah, yeah," Mike said, "Nice to meet you."

Ricky and Jake followed Mike's gesture of shaking her hand politely. Mike leaned over to Steven and tried to be discrete while he asked, "Isn't Raoul living with her now?"

Steven gave an awkward nod, trying to divert the comment, but Christine didn't take much out of the remark. Steven instead changed the topic and gestured to Christine's dress, while Jake and Ricky walked away in the direction they came from.

"Sick outfit," he said to her. "I love the color."

"Oh, thank you," Christine said.

She'd always figured that Steven had hated her for stealing his roommate, but his kindness toward her was making her think otherwise. He leaned in closer to her, yelling into her ear so that he could better be heard. It was the only way to have a conversation here, it seemed.

"You taking care of Raoul?" he said in an amused tone.

"Oh, yes," Christine said. She'd never been very good at sarcasm. "He's pretty easy to care for, though."

"Hah, yeah," he said. "He cleaned up after me more than himself. I might need him back soon."

"Admit it," Raoul chimed in. "You're enjoying the alone time."

"Shit, I'm partying more than I did before," Steven laughed. "You guys should come over sometime; I'm going to put a pong table where Raoul's bed is."

Raoul laughed, and even Christine chuckled at the comment. She was glad to see that Steven was lighthearted about the situation and that it wasn't going to cause a problem through the school's system. She was also relieved that he was easy to get along with, or the meeting could have been very awkward. What was awkward was the way their friend Mike was staring at her.

As the music slowed down a notch, many in the crowd either cheered or groaned at the music that was now being transitioning in. Trumpets were playing amidst a deep bass and techno beats, and a man was repeating a phrase in Spanish over and over again. The music crescendoed to a heavy pause, and then the entire crowd began to bounce.

"You dance?" Steven asked Christine.

"Uh—"

"Common," he said, holding out his hand to her.

She reluctantly took it and soon enough, he was twirling her around, in front of and behind his back, stepping in rhythm to the music and moving his hips methodically to the beats. Christine had rhythm, but was no dancer. She stumbled a few times with his quick pace, but once she caught on to the tempo of his repetitious movements, she moved effortlessly with around him in a salsa-styled swing dance.

Christine began to laugh at times, allowing her hands to rest against his shoulders and to even be tilted back in his arms on occasion, breaking their pattern. He turned over to Raoul and nodded a few times, gesturing his surprise at her ability to catch on. As the song ended, he guided her back next to Raoul and turned to his ear.

"You should learn from your girl – she knows how to move."

"I was just following you," Christine said modestly.

"Well, I'd dance with you on this next song, but I don't think Raoul would appreciate my moves on that one," Steven said with a laugh. "I'll let you take it from here."

The atmosphere did seem to change from the fluent movements of before back to the trusting and bending dances from before. Christine was familiar of this style from when she was in high school. It was the main reason she didn't attend the dances, other than the fact that she didn't have a social group who cared for such social gatherings.

As Raoul turned to give Steven a joking punch on the shoulder for his comment, Jake and Ricky were returning toward the group, each of them holding three drinks in their hands. They shuffled through the crowd, holding their hands over their shoulders to avoid the throwing of shoulders from the dancers around them, and then held the red cups out to Steven, Mike, Raoul and Christine.

Steven gladly accepted his, but Raoul looked over to Christine before accepting his, and gave a glance. With a mischievous smile, Christine took her cup and nodded as she held it up to her lips and took a sip. Christine gestured to him and he leaned down to her level to better hear her.

"I'm supposed to be getting out and relaxing," Christine joked.

"True," Raoul said.

"Don't worry, I have my limits," Christine assured.

"I believe you," Raoul said as he leaned back to his full height.

With a grin, he held his glass up and tipped it into the air before drawing it to his lips for a gulp.

She looked over her shoulder toward Steven, but found Mike staring at her instead. She gave a polite smile, but diverted her eyes from his quickly.

Being the odd one out, Christine found the cup in her hand the only task that she could complete. She knew she wouldn't be getting many other dances out of the guys, and she certainly knew that Raoul wouldn't dance with her like that; it was against his decorum. So she held onto the cup and took casual sips from it, especially whenever someone looked in her direction. The few times she was spoke to was also her queue to take another sip. When the cup was out, she simple held onto it and pretended to drink, buying time and something more to do.

Mike leaned over at one point and looked into Christine's cup as she pulled it away from her lips. He grabbed it from her and held it upside down to see a single drip fall from its top.

"Glad to see you don't baby sit," he said as he turned away toward the center of the crowd.

"Oh, no, that's alright," Christine was trying to say as he was already walking away.

She shrugged her shoulders as he left, realizing she hadn't even felt an effect from the first one. One more beer wouldn't hurt.

Mike returned with three beers this time in hand, one for Christine and two apparently for himself. Christine reminded herself to take fake sips in-between actual sips to make this one last longer, but as she got into the fresh foam around the rim, it felt so refreshing that she took a few good sips immediately.

The effect began to settle as Christine could feel the light tingle between her brow and the colors around her beginning to swirl. The masks bounced around her in a carousel of motion, making her delightfully dizzy and enthralled. Each mask that passed made her smile press further across her face and even those that once frightened her were now a piece of comic relief.

Her feet began to shift back and forth and she began to bob up and down with the music. Her head beat to the music and soon enough, her arms were up in the air, obeying the DJ who continually chanted, "throw your hands in the air."

It didn't matter who was around anymore. Christine was part of her own piece of happiness and though she was not overly intoxicated, she was content enough to not care who she was dancing beside. No longer would she notice anybody looking at her, because she wasn't searching for their wandering eyes. She was in her own world and perfectly at peace in it. Even as Mike took a look to his side and noticed her dancing, she took a moment to give him a piece of satisfaction by dancing beside him for a moment. Once he pressed too far, she casually stepped further from his side, turning to those to the opposite side of her, making new friends amongst the masses.

The slight brush of others walking behind her in passing caught her attention, drawing her to side step and slowly stray from Raoul and his friends, yet she was not concerned, because if she looked to her right, she could see them throwing their own drinks in the air and jumping up and down, chanting along with the DJ. The passing of others turned into the bumping of them dancing behind her, trying to gain her attention to turn around and dance as their partners. Christine ignored them enough to let their attention stray elsewhere, but actually felt a sense of satisfaction that they would want to dance with her.

Just as she began to welcome the idea, one guy who seemed too young to even be drinking came up and began to dance with Christine too closely. Christine stepped to the side, but he reached out and grabbed her by the hips, pulling her close against his groin. Christine turned and motioned to the guy dressed as a pirate that she would not be dancing with him, but he put on his best pout of a face and mouthed "common," as she walked away.

She pushed past the crowd enough to hide herself behind a barrier of bodies. It worked well enough, because she did not see the rude pirate the rest of the evening. As Christine situated herself in a whole new area, she looked around and let herself go back to her own shameless dancing. She didn't care who looked or who joined, as long as she was respected. But as she held her arms up over her head, she absently realized that she would never have allowed herself to let go so much had it not been for the alcohol.

It was a strange and frightening thought that just a small dose could make a person completely different from their normal selves, but really, it was not a transformation, but a crashing down of walls. Christine felt like the young woman she wanted to be outside of the cages she'd created for herself. She was free of her anxiety and was living without fear. Yet as she felt a firm hand grasp onto her shoulder, fear caught her in the stomach once again.

He was taller than she was and wore the most elaborate of costumes she'd seen all night. His attire was completely black and form fitting to a figure that didn't have much of a figure to offer. A large belt with a brass buckle hung off of the belt loops and covered the labels of a gold vest and waist band. Over his broad shoulders was a tail coat jacket, left fully open and adorned with rusted brass pins of valor. He wore a top hat with a tuft of feathers tinted in gold off of the side, and below it was a mask made completely out of brass and silver machinery bits. It covered his entire face and had parts actually animated, as if they were allowing him to function. His eyes were blocked by tinted shades of glass rimmed in rusted gold, but Christine could easily tell that his eyes were locked on her; especially on her mask.

Christine stopped dancing completely. She looked up to the figure and noticed the staff in his right hand – a black gloved hand firmly grasped around it – and the razor spearing off of the top of it. A smile seemed to form underneath the clock-work mask he wore, as if somehow time were running off of death's schedule. He truly was depicting death itself, yet twisting its image in a steam-punk fashion to nod to time's constant ticking.

His hand drew up to her cheek and Christine allowed him to. She didn't encourage or deject it. Just as before, the image of death seemed so welcoming to her, that now as it was staring down at her, she didn't know how to accept his touch. Fear was gripping at her stomach, yet she could feel the toxins inside of her calming her enough to relax in the situation. Death's haunting presence was still unconfirmed. Was this Death himself, or the man she feared more?

The gloved hand began to slide down her shoulder, running to her fingers and pulling them to entwine in his own. The other hand followed right after, taking her captive to his grip. Christine stiffened a bit, but took the step he was encouraging forward. Her head tilted up to search for his eyes beneath the shaded glasses, and he began to teeter her back and forth, encouraging her to dance. This time, she would not.

"Who are you?" Christine asked.

The silver sheet of metal over the figure's face tilted upward. He must be smiling.

"Surely, it is no surprise to you," he replied.

Even in a yell, the calming voice worked through Christine's ears like the toxins running through her. She closed her eyes as he spoke and imagined herself back in the underground dwelling again, pinned beneath his hands that were now holding onto hers so gently.

"Please," she said, trying to convince herself to pull away from him.

Everyone seemed to be looking at them. Some admiring the well-machined version of Death, others envious that he'd clearly found a suitable partner.

Christine's one step backward without the other foot to follow made her capture confident that he had his hold on her again. Even without being able to see them, Christine could tell his eyes were intent on her mask, as if her wearing it was a mockery. He pulled her up close to him again.

"Quite the escort you have tonight," the man said.

"He's my—"

"Yes, I know," Death said in a twisted ire.

Christine noticed his right arm cradled the staff in the crease of his elbow. His hands firmly held onto her, until his left hand reached out to touch her cheek again. Christine turned it away from him, shivering in the night despite the mass of heat radiating around them.

"He doesn't deserve you," Erik said coolly.

Christine couldn't look up to him. Even if she couldn't see his eyes, she knew they would capture her again. Erik's hand wrapped around the front of her neck, massaging underneath her chin to turn her head slowly in his direction.

"He doesn't understand what you need," Erik continued, lulling her with his deluded words.

"Stop," Christine said, turning away from his hand.

"He parades you around in the open – in front of his friends – and expects you to remain safe?"

Christine was shivering now. It wasn't true. Raoul would never harm her. He was warm, and trusting, and understanding. He knew how to keep her safe…

"Where is he now, Christine?"

She turned to him abruptly, feeling herself sway from the toxins that still bubbled inside of her. Nothing else seemed to be happening around her. The crowds of people jumping up and down with their drinks sloshing over the sides, the girls passed out in their boyfriends' arms from too much to drink, the erotic dancing taking place to the side of her. Not even Raoul, who was now somewhere in the mass searching for his girlfriend frantically, his friends not understanding why he was so panicked.

"Where is he?" Erik repeated, stepping close into her.

Her chest was pressed close to his, with her hands held up protectively at her neck's level, fingers grazing past the party beads to find her cross necklace.

"He's…"

"Shh," Erik cooed. "You're safe, my beautiful."

Christine nodded her head slowly, almost accepting his words. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to him, his hand resting gently across the back of her head. His cheek rested against his own hand, letting him remain close to Christine, yet wanting to have an extra barrier between his horrid features and her beauty.

He rocked her back and forth, twisting his torso to drift her down. Her buzz was beginning to fade and now Christine could feel herself beginning to slip, wanting so desperately to sleep. She batted her eyes, struggling to keep them open despite the open invitation, but she knew it was what he'd want of her. Was it what she wanted?

No.

_Raoul…_

Distantly, she thought she could hear her name being called in desperation, but Erik's arms wrapped tighter around her. His body slightly turned, keeping himself between those of the search party. Christine knew it, but she silently hoped that they would see her dress shimmering against the folds of Erik's black tailcoat. They seemed to pass and Erik's arms loosened.

_No…_

"No," Christine said.

She pushed out of his embrace and stared up into his soulless eyes. She pulled her mask off of her face to remove all barriers she could, and shook her head defiantly.

"I am not yours," she said with a sting. "You have no right to keep me from my boyfriend."

She turned quickly, making her escape, when her arm was caught quickly by Erik's hand. It held harshly at first, and then lessened in strength. Christine could see his breath steady beneath his attire and then he leaned toward her slowly.

"Leaving, my beautiful?" Erik asked.

"Don't call me that," Christine said.

"I have a surprise for you," he said.

Christine's stern eyes softened. She didn't know what the expect from his proposal.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Tonight, when you return to your apartment," he said.

Without another word, he released her hand and gestured for her to continue her fleeing. She paused for a moment for questioning, but then turned quickly again without another interruption.

Christine ran through the crowd, calling out Raoul's name and jumping above the heads of those dancing. Finally, she turned and saw him pushing through groups toward her. He held his arms out as she ran toward him, and she joined his embrace frantically. He pulled her out of his arms, as if time were valuable in her escape, but Christine assured him they were safe. Her pressed nod and eye contact gave him the signal, though that it was time to leave.

The swirls of the masks and the array of attires made the scene look all so beautiful, yet haunting at the same time. Everything was different and unique, especially in the already vibrant city. But as they whirled together and the clash of good and evil swam within the same tide, it made a whole different atmosphere in the open-minded part of the city.

The lights were blaring as loud as the music, and even in a mass, the crowd was easily lost by the mixture of lust and alcohol. For those even controlling themselves, it was easy to be lost amongst the faces that stared beside them. No matter who was beneath the masks that danced so recklessly, the masquerade was clearly the place to go to erase who you were and focus on who you want to be. In the case of the man dressed as Death, it was easy to be anybody else, if not, someone more extravagant.


	18. Midnight Phonecall

_**Author's Note:** The short chapter... not much to read, but important in setting up the next round of material. With that, I also know how this story is going to end! :) Remember that review box at the bottom of the page... Thanks for reading!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>"Christine, you know you don't have to hide anything from me," Raoul said as they walked through the door.<p>

The conversation had been going on since they had left the party.

Christine refused to tell Raoul what happened while they were out of the apartment, but now as they were entering, she knew she didn't have the courage to tell him even now. The panic it would cause him was evident, because even without knowing that Erik had found her, he seemed to have already assumed for the worst.

"Was it him?" he repeated again. "Are you afraid to tell me because you want him instead?"

That was a new one.

"Raoul," Christine said, rounding on him quickly, "If it were that simple, I wouldn't be here."

His eyes grew wide.

"Wouldn't be here?" he exclaimed. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if I wanted to be with Erik, I could have easily left with him then and there," she said, nearly yelling back at Raoul.

She was a bit hysteric. Though proud that she was able to escape from him this time, the peace that she was feeling was now put to shame.

"So he was there," Raoul said triumphantly, taking a seat on the couch across from Christine.

"Yes, Raoul, he was there," Christine said in a huff.

"Then what happened?" Raoul urged. "I only want to know so I can help you."

"I know that," Christine said, trying to sound forgiving, "but I am still trying to grasp what really happened myself. He just appeared. I got caught up from the beer and the dancing, and next thing I knew, he was just there. He hardly tried to dance or anything, it's like he just wanted to let his presence be known."

"What did he say to you?" Raoul pressed.

"He said—" Christine stopped herself.

It was like she could hardly believe in now that she could recall.

"What?" Raoul urged.

"He said that you don't deserve me," Christine said sadly.

Raoul didn't have anything to say to that. He was silent and ran his fingers through his hair, turning away from Christine to possibly hide his concern.

"I know it's not true," Christine said. "But I think he's trying to get me to believe it."

Raoul remained quiet.

Christine walked over to the couch and sat on the arm, resting her feet on the cushions. She sat just to the side of Raoul and wrapped her arms around him, knowing that though the damage was done, she could at least try and alleviate it. She pulled his head toward her and gave a gentle kiss on his temple. He was nearly lifeless, as if he were now contemplating if Erik's words were in fact, true.

"Raoul, you can't let it get to you," Christine chimed in. "That's clearly what he wants, and if you break down to his power, I too could be lost."

"But why would he say something like that?" Raoul asked.

"To wear me down," Christine said sadly. "To make me believe in him, and to lose you."

Christine turned her head slowly, still hanging onto Raoul's neck. Her head rested against his shoulder, letting her own words sink in. Was this truly what he was trying to do? Wear her down and make her surrender? But what exactly would she be surrendering to? She knew that no matter what, she would choose Raoul. After seeing the murderous glint in Erik's eye, and now the extreme measures he would go to try and claim her, she knew the answer was so clear.

The deep thoughts were interrupted by a small green light flashing on her phone on the table across from them. Christine had left the phone behind, knowing that the only one who would call it was going to be with her all night. She unraveled her arms from Raoul's neck, which drew his attention also to the phone. As she flipped the phone open and looked at the vivid screen, a small box popped up, reading 1 missed call from unknown and 1 voicemail.

She looked over to Raoul, who had followed her to the table and tilted the phone in his direction to observe. He seemed equally as puzzled.

"It says the call was at 11:42," Raoul commented.

Christine dialed for her voicemail and held the phone up to her ear.

_"Hi Christine, it's me," she started._

"It's my mom," Christine said, surprised.

_She sounds so upset…_

_ "I just called to tell you some news about my brother – your uncle..."_

Christine's nose wrinkled at the mention of her uncle and Raoul could see it. He could hear the message playing through the phone's speaker.

_There's nothing I want to know about him._

_ "He was found this evening, murdered in his home."_


	19. Enchantment

_**Author's Note:** I'm back! Whew. With work, school, dog training and new expenses, this one was hard to punch out, but after a few separate venues of writing, I finally got it all put together. Sorry for the longer-than-usual update. I'm getting closer to the end of this story, which makes me sad, but also brings me new hope for potentially another Phantom story. Much different than a modern take, let me tell you. Anyway, this chapter is in a strange way the equivalent to The Magic Violin/Wandering Child, but with it's own twists. No longer mourning her BFF daddy, and there is no Raoul to come swooping in. So, of course, Christine has to be a big girl and figure things out on her own. It is a very different angle, and like I have mentioned throughout, Christine is a different version from others for this story. I hope you do enjoy it, and please remember to leave some lovely comments (good and critique please!) in those review boxes at the bottom of the page. Thanks for reading!_

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>It was a cloud-covered evening on a Saturday. Snow had fallen late Friday night to the early hours before sunrise. Now patches of snow were scattered around the city, coupled with puddles of water where the ice had melted. It was another calm moment in the city – as calm as the city had to offer – but surely people would emerge into the night as the evening rolled closer toward midnight.<p>

Across the river and far into New Jersey, the night was sure to be much more quiet and mournful. Distraught family members were likely leaned against each other and crying. They remembered and lamented on an untimely death that was still under investigation. Amongst them, Christine's own mother.

Christine didn't know if there were others who were relieved by the death of the man, and if there were, whether they were forced to attend his funeral or not. She liked to think it was only she who was affected by his lustrous actions. Regardless, she was relieved to be alone and well removed from the memorial. Let those who saw him in good light celebrate his life while she was distant from the sadness they felt. She wrote down all of the details regarding the services, and perhaps she was truly expected to show up. She may have even made it sound like she would make a trip over to the Garden State that weekend, but she would deal with the disappointment of her family. Eventually.

Christine wasn't given any details about how he died, but it was probably because she never asked. Though she didn't want to distress her mother by making her repeat it over the phone, she could already imagine what the scene was like: he was probably strangled to death. If there was evidence, it would be a fiber of hair which matched nobody in their records or any enemies he had. Perhaps a muddy boot print would be present, but even then it would match every generic workman's boot in the suburbs. No previous records on file would match this murder either. It was a fresh case, because Christine knew that those who had been murdered by the same man were never missed. This was the first who had a family following.

Christine sat alone with her back against a wall and her head tilted against it. The solitude she felt as she went over the past week in her mind helped a bit. Fact was that she was lucky she was able to get out of the house alone. She told Raoul she would be working on her senior gallery all day. The lie worked because she knew he'd never allow her to return to this alley by herself.

It was the only place she could think of to go. She knew the risks she took, but her indifference today almost frightened her more than the idea of abduction. Her mind slipped into a nagging obsession, telling herself she wasn't worth saving, then retrieving every reason why she longed to be spared. She clutched onto her cross necklace and prayed for peace of mind, but more tears flowed. She had no hesitation in allowing them because it hurt too much to hold them back. Christine needed to let go, and with that, she needed to dissolve her fears.

Why was she feeling such satisfaction in the death of someone part of her own family? Why couldn't she feel fully comforted in his disposal? Regardless of what he had done to her, she now had to worry about how the entire situation affected her family.

The unknown was always a frightening thing, and even for Christine, she was affected by the curiosity of if _he'd_ get caught. Did anybody suspect him and would he ever be questioned? If he was caught, would she have to testify against him? She was back to making a phantom out of the man, unable to breathe his name without feeling she was summoning a demon.

As her mind continued to unravel her deepest concern, a dark figure emerged from the shadows of the alley, slowly walking toward her. Christine closed her eyes, her jaw quivering while her hands clutched against her knees. She could feel the shadow stop at her side, hovering over her like a veil against her chilled skin. Her eyes opened, but focused on her blistering hands. She didn't bother with gloves when she left. Now she was paying for it; they were so numb.

The figure beside her made a subtle gesture that Christine chose to ignore. She could feel part of it reaching out to her – the hand, it seemed – but she kept her eyes forward still. She knew exactly what was happening, but she needed time. Just one more moment by herself…

"Thank you," she said finally with a taste of reluctance. "For what you did…"

She turned to see Erik's hand reaching out for her, pressing for her to take it. It was covered by a black glove, but the lean shape was just as she recalled from before. Her eyes diverted from his offer and looked up to his masked face. It was the same black mask as he had worn before, but over the worn leather was a crack that she recalled from the time she had spent in the underground dwelling. His eyes glared as she looked it over, seeming to recall the encounter just as vividly as she did. Christine could see the mask falling between them again, the crack in the aged and flaking leather form, and the expression of horror washing out Erik's enchanting amber eyes…

His hand reached further out, crossing over her knees to make his offer unmistakable. A faint smile pressed over her lips.

_So persistent. _

Slowly, she allowed her hand to slip into the warmth of his gloved hand. It was the only time his hand could offer comfort like this.

With ease, Erik pulled Christine up onto her feet and held is arm out, offering her the protection of his arm to guide her out of the alley. Her mind was hazy as she looked back into his masked face and stepped toward him, jaw agape and eyes widened. His hand curled around her shoulder and with a slight tug, he was guiding her forward. Erik kept his head down, blocking his mask and glowing eyes under the cover of his hood. Christine also looked down, watching their feet move beneath the tarp of his long jacket.

His stride was long and commanding, while Christine timidly tried to keep up with him to not fall behind.

Christine did not allow her mind to count the consequences of traveling with the man… she was too much in awe. It was as if the coupling of his presences within the alley made her completely forget that it was not her safety from others she needed to be cautious of: it was the one offering his protection. But as they traveled on, Christine's mind would not allow thoughts like this to occur.

It didn't occur until the journey once again took Christine underground, beneath the workings of the city and down to an atmosphere that Erik was all too comfortable with. He removed Christine from his grasp and held her tightly by the arm, pulling her down steps and ladders, knowing that this time, should she remove herself from her strange trance, she would not walk as willingly as she had before.

When they began their assent back to level ground, Christine began to struggle against him more, pushing at his hand wrapped around hers and digging her feet into the dusty cement. Erik's grip did not alter, but he continued with a frightening indifference. He was leading her up a ladder and Christine knew that all she had to do was remove herself from his grasp…

She reached up with the arm that supported herself on the ladder, using her forearm to hit across Erik's. His grip did not loosen, but Christine found herself loosing her balance and sliding off the ladder.

She was falling back down to the underground where they came from. Her entire body dangled over the edge while Erik kept a firm grip on her wrist. With a quick jerk, Christine was being pulled back onto the ladder by her one arm that was still secured in Erik's clutches. He looked down to her insensitively, as if mocking her stupidity. In one frightening wave, the shock for the moment washed over Christine and she began to tremble, realizing just how far the drop was and just how deadly her stunt could have ended.

Erik began to pull at her arm again, this time, he did not move. He was gesturing for Christine to take the lead. He held onto the ladder with one hand and one foot balancing on the edge of the wrung while Christine made her way in front of him. Just as she began climbing in front, he came quickly behind her, taking two steps at a time so that his torso was inline with her legs.

He was determined not to let her go.

At the end of the ladder was some sort of trapdoor which led up into a musky hallway. They were indoors again, and somehow the room looked vaguely familiar. As Erik emerged behind her, he took Christine's hand without inspecting her and pulled her arm behind him. After a couple of sharp turns, the door was opened to a room that Christine remembered all too well.

The walls were bare again, with remnants of tape and nails still remaining from when her drawings once adorned them. The tin trashcan was set in the middle of the room, dark from its lack of use, and the wooden chair had been moved to the opposite corner. The books were no where to be seen, unless they were buried underneath the shower of papers that were still covering the ground.

All of the images Christine had drawn were torn and scattered as debris throughout the room, coupled now with odd, labored drawings that Erik had clearly tried drawing to mimic. His written works, as well as the words from the authors of his books, were also lining the floor, as if Christine's artwork were now strewn amongst the great works that Erik so adored.

Erik pushed Christine into the center of the room, keeping her away from the door as he stared intently at her. His eyes were glowing against the dark, making them the only thing she could clearly make out of her abductor.

"Now what?" Christine asked, holding her arms out to her sides and letting them fall to her sides in exhaustion.

Erik took a couple steps forward, but seemed to stop himself. He stood and watched her, clearly reveling in his triumph in bringing her back to his world so easily.

"What would you like, Christine?"

Christine didn't know. She knew she shouldn't be back and now as the memories of this place began to set in, she felt the dread in her decision taking hold of her senses. Trying not to panic, Christine took in a deep breath and focused her attention on the open door behind Erik.

Without looking behind him, Erik's hand reached back and pushed at the door with his fingertips, slamming it behind him. Christine flinched at the sound, closing her eyes and fighting back a tear. The question she had just asked was now ringing inside of her head.

_Now what?_

Erik walked past Christine, making a point to stride closely by her as he went into the room around the corner where Christine knew the icebox and the window to be. She turned and followed his path, turning in her spot to watch him disappear for only a moment. The pieces of wood began to fly through the archway a door should have been, landing beside the trashcan and even pounding against it.

Christine closed her eyes, trying to drown out the sound. A few more pieces of wood flew into the room, then Erik walked by with a handful of kindling wood, dropping it in a separate pile just beside the logs. He went back into the room with the icebox, rummaging again through a fresh pile he had seemed to secure for himself.

"What are you doing?" Christine called from her spot in the middle of the main room.

A slight pause and then another couple of logs flew in through the doorway.

Then Erik walked back through the door, going straight for the kindling wood without offering a single glance in Christine's direction.

"It's going to be cold tonight," he said simply. "If we don't get the fire going soon, we might as well be sitting out on that alley of yours."

He took a scoop-full of the kindling wood and began situating it at the bottom of the can. He then took a stack of newspaper and began tearing it down the center in strips, then placed them amongst the small chips of wood. A match followed the strips in, setting the small bundle ignite into flames.

"Don't worry, I've put an extra comforter on the bed for you," Erik continued, despite Christine's attempt at interruption. "You won't have to be out here while you sleep."

"Erik—"

"There's an extra pillow this time as well," he continued.

He was deliberate in keeping Christine's replies to herself.

The larger pieces of wood were now being placed inside of the trashcan as Christine allowed the silence to fill the room. Nothing but the crackling of timber made a sound between them as Erik completed his task and the fire grew brighter inside of the can.

Christine could see his form in the dark again. He seemed older than she remembered, even just from the hour that had passed. His shoulders were hunched slightly forward and his arms hung to his side. Perhaps her struggle during their journey here had actually worked to some degree, except now he saw her staring at him and stood up straight and strong again.

Christine wondered how old he was.

"I'm not staying," Christine said, looking directly into his eyes.

His eyes grew hard, but his posture did not alter. He simply stood for a moment and then began to pace toward her. Christine only cowered a bit when he leaned straight over her, showing his full authority over her well-being. She took a few steps backwards and found her back up against the wall. She groped at the rough surface, hoping it was the door she had run into, but there was nothing but solid stone behind her.

"Then why, may I ask, did you come here?" Erik asked, almost sweetly.

Christine turned her glance away from him, unable to answer. She had no idea what she was doing here, but now she regretted it, just as she knew she would. Erik's arm rested beside her cheek, pressing against the wall behind her. He leaned in closer to get a better look into her eyes and then let his opposite hand graze across her jaw. Christine turned her head away from him, diverting his touch and letting his knuckles run straight into the wall. Erik held an amused laugh behind his lips, turning a wicked smile across his mouth.

"I don't know why I came back," Christine said aloud.

Erik's hand reached across her chest and took Christine's cheek back into his grasp. He turned her head to look back at him and took a moment to stare into her blue eyes, letting his grin grow wider. Christine felt herself growing sick, knowing that his smile was not meant for his happiness to be with her, but for his empowerment over her. He had brought her back to the place she feared more than anything, and it reminded her just how dangerous the man who saved her life really was.

She made half an effort to remove herself from his grip, but his fingers were pressing into her skin. Christine hoped he couldn't feel her trembling beneath his hold. She didn't want him to see her fear, because she knew that gave him even more control over her. She pretended for herself that she was braver than she could show, whih gave her a slight bout of courage, but as Erik leaned in even closer, pushing the leather of the mask against her nose, her daring failed her.

His lips brushed against hers, drawing a shudder from Christine's throat. She closed her eyes, trying to block everything from her mind, but then she felt Erik invite himself in further, pressing another kiss on her mouth, and then locking his lips over hers. Christine remained still, not complying or preventing his actions. His hand loosened on her chin and ran up her jaw line, reaching behind her ear and pulling her further down into his kiss. The hand against the wall remained, but weakened its leverage, drawing his chest to press against Christine's.

Slowly, Christine's hand reached up and pressed against his chest. She pushed at his jacket softly, then began to try more seriously as his tongue began to slide within her mouth. Her shoulders hunched up and tried to block him, but the hand resting on the wall came to hold her shoulder, pressing it down and caressing it. Christine pushed against his chest harder, then managed to coax the other hand to join.

The hand running along Christine's shoulder ran across her collar bone and then down to find her arm, holding it down to her side by the wrist. Her free hand tried to release it by prying Erik's fingers away, but his grasp was too powerful for her to budge.

For a moment, Christine began to simply let the encounter happen.

Erik's tongue searched within her mouth and his free hand stroked through her hair. His chest pressed deeper against hers and his hand that held hers tightened, bringing numbness to her fingers.

Christine lamented at her misfortune, nearly playing into his affections by letting her tongue timidly explore as well. His lips continued to pull at hers, begging her to join him, and it seemed almost cruel of her to deny him.

After all that he had saved her from and now this was her fate? She felt nothing more than an object, preserved merely for his pleasure. She was to be saved so he alone could enjoy her.

Christine turned her head to the side, gasping for air and letting her hair fall in front of her face as a shield.

"Stop," she muttered, clearly frazzled by the trance Erik was keeping her under.

Erik's lips hovered over hers, desperate to leech on again, yet halted by the power of her single word. He knew the weapon that Christine had dealt to be a powerful one.

He had an animalistic glaze over his eyes, with his mouth still open, desperate for breath. Then an amused smile crossed his lips. He surely wondered how she could be the one to initiate such affections on him in their previous encounters in the underground dwelling, when now she wanted nothing to do.

"I need to leave," Christine said, trying to shift away from him.

"No," Erik said, darkly, holding her in her spot.

"I am not yours to keep," Christine said.

"And you expect me to just let you go?" Erik challenged.

"I have my own life," Christine snapped.

"A life which I saved!"

Christine caught her breath.

Was this to be his excuse for everything? Was her life now simply leverage for whatever he desired? Christine stared up to him defensively, but had nothing to say. There had to be a point where she gained control of her own fate again. She looked far off to her side, trying to maintain her confidence in herself.

"I won't stay," she said.

"So you will leave; and you'll go back with him," Erik said with disgust.

"Back to the man I love," Christine said defiantly.

"Back to the boy who parades you around and does not appreciate you."

"You have no right to say that," Christine said.

"And you have no right to turn away from me when it was you who first initiated such contact as this," Erik said, gesturing between them.

Christine had no counter to his argument.

Then was different. Then, Christine was still blind to what Erik could truly be. He was angry and aggressive, finding only the outer qualities of Christine to pine over. He did not know her like Raoul did, because he had seen a side of her that was far different than she even knew. Erik saw Christine's darkness… a girl who embraced the gloominess inside of her that hid deep within her and cherished all that frightened her. He saw her as the girl who could press past her weaknesses, but her valor could only stand for so long. He saw her as the girl who needed protection; who was surrounded by darkness through her misfortune, not as her daily life. Such haunting qualities were not what Christine was meant to be confined to, and no matter how thrilling it was, she could never live in such sorrow.

Yet Erik stared into her eyes, his hunger returning – threatening to consume her – and she took a timid step backward, surrendering to his shaded form.

Erik's hand wrapped around Christine's waist, pulling her in close to him again. He went straight back to his work, but ran his lips over her neck this time. Christine tried to suppress a small gasp as he worked his way down to her shoulder, pulling her sweater to the side. Her hands went back to their defensive position, resting against his chest and applying slight pressure, but Erik continued.

He went back for her lips, pulling her closer to him by holding onto the back of her head. Christine struggled against him, trying to escape from his arms, but he only held tighter, forcing himself closer toward her. Christine's hands curled into fists and began beating at his chest harder, all while she wiggled within his arms.

Back to her neck he went, running his lips feverishly behind her ear and up against her jaw. He didn't seem to regard leaving his mark on her, because Christine knew he intended to keep her with him. She closed her eyes, beginning to panic as his hands began wandering, taking advantaged of her cease in struggling. Both hands set on her waist and slowly began to travel up toward her breasts, all as he continued with his lips down her collar bone. Christine struggled more, breaking her hands through his trail to intervene.

"No," Christine gasped.

Erik's lips broke from hers and she took the moment to throw a quick slap across his cheek, turning his head with unexpected force.

Both froze, equally shocked by Christine's defense. Erik's hand went straight to his cheek to conceal the pain while Christine's went to cover her mouth in disbelief. Erik took a step back, smiling and nodding his head slowly, a short chuckle pressing past his lips. It sounded cruel and sinister.

"I-I'm—" Christine stammered.

His laughter grew louder, as if this sort of pain was completely unknown to him. He never even looked at Christine, but continued raging in his hysterics with his hand creeping beneath the surface of his mask now to apply a cool surface to the spot that surely was burning.

Christine stepped to the side, watching Erik carefully, yet finding an escape route through the closed door while he remained stuck on his astonishment. She quickly went to the door and opened it, keeping herself turned to face Erik the entire time. As the handle turned and the light from the end of the hall came into the room, Christine turned to exit quickly, seeing Erik turn to watch her just as she slipped out of the door. The laughter continued as she passed through the door and she began to sprint, hoping that she may be able to somehow outrun Erik despite her not knowing where she was going. Christine turned down hall after hall, grabbing at the walls for support, searching for any sign of familiarity. After a few left turns and one leading right, she finally emerged back onto the street. She looked behind her to find that Erik was not following behind her at all.

Christine was alone again.

All at once, the words that Erik spoke once before were ringing in her head as she looked around the slums of Avenue B, trying to regain her breath. He was right about one thing: Christine was not meant to be in New York City.


	20. Flight

**Author's Note:**_ I realize that it has been almost a month since I've last posted. I feel badly, but then I also have had a lot to deal with for school and work. I'm also feeling bad because this isn't much as far as quantity in this chapter, but I can promise that it leads up to more. In other words, this is one of my second to last chapter. Unless something crazy happens, the next chapter will be the last (excluding a short epilogue I plan on doing). I'm a bit sad, but I also look forward to an idea that I have for my next piece. Should be much different than this one for sure, but hopefully just as fun to write. I'd love for you to check it out, especially if you are at all into fairy tales ;) Anyway, this chapter has a lot of dialogue! I have a real love/hate relationship with dialogue. I love writing it because I love the challenge of making it sound realistic, but it's hard to think of the right things to say. Thoughts are so easy, when dialogue has to be more strategic... Anyway, don't forget that review box at the bottom of the page and thank you SO much for reading! _

_- Phantom's angel_

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><p>Raoul turned as the door flung open. Christine had run the entire way home and was nearly gasping for breath as she slammed the door behind her. Raoul closed the book he was studying from and looked toward the threshold, letting his mouth fall open the moment he saw the distress in Christine's eyes. She turned away and tried to rush past Raoul, prolonging to tell the decision she'd already made on her way home.<p>

"What is it?" Raoul said as he stood from the chair, crossing quickly toward Christine.

Christine tried to pass Raoul on her way to the bedroom, but he caught up her and cut in front of her at the edge of the coffee table. She stopped and kept her eyes on the floor, avoiding his worrisome stare. Christine remained quiet for a moment, unsure how to reveal the news.

"I have to leave," Christine finally said quietly.

"Go?" Raoul asked.

She shifted to try and get away from him, but Raoul grabbed hold of her arms – keeping her in place – trying to gain her glance.

Christine tried again to push past him and keep her eyes cast downward, but Raoul maneuvered with her step.

She knew he'd already seen her start to cry.

"Christine!" Raoul protested as she tried again to step away from him.

"I'm sorry!" Christine cried, turning to look right at him. "I just have to go."

Raoul released her arms from his grip and stared at her in disbelief.

Christine teetered a bit, trying to maintain her footing. She almost could feel Erik's intense stare set upon her again and a musky breath grazing her skin. As she looked up to address the mask she assumed she'd see, she saw Raoul instead, wide-eyed and scared to death for her. Christine blinked her eyes hard, trying to remove the image of the mask from her mind, but she saw Raoul reach out for her, trying to understand what ghosts she was imagining.

"My God," Raoul said, shaking his head.

It was obvious that he knew the extent of what Christine was dealing with; what they were both dealing with. Christine knew she couldn't let him go through this anymore.

"What happened?" Raoul pressed, grabbing hold of her arms again.

"I went back," Christine said, turning away from him.

Raoul's grip went limp and fell from her arms. One hand went straight up to his temple and held tight, trying to keep his thoughts in to sort through.

"I'm sorry," Christine said defensively. "I don't know what I—"

"Did he hurt you?" Raoul pressed. "Are you okay?"

"No, he wouldn't hurt me," Christine said. "Not physically…"

"My God," Raoul murmured.

He wrung his hands together, imagining the horrors that she had just been through solely based on the story Christine had told him on the roof of the art building. They never spoke of the two weeks she'd been missing again, though often Raoul would refer to her absence as "when she was gone," almost like it was a casual vacation. Christine knew he was picturing the worst, but she knew even despite what she'd been through, and how distorted she knew Raoul's image would be, she had to get away from it all. She longed for true freedom and that seemed to involve getting away from the responsibility of dealing with the extra anxieties she was faced with.

"That's why I have to leave," Christine urged.

"You can't," Raoul nearly demanded. "There's too much you'll be losing…"

"He killed me uncle, Raoul," Christine said.

Raoul took in a deep breath of air, gripping hold of his heart with his hand.

_Doubt he saw that coming. Poor Raoul. He doesn't deserve this…_

His eyes were focused on nothing, clearly trying to make sense of the news – every piece of it – that Christine was delivering to him.

"He took you back to tell you he's a murder?" Raoul asked.

"I already knew," Christine said bitterly.

Raoul's face caved with distress as his breath began to rattle in his chest. His head shook, clearly confused as to what to think or what to say. He didn't know the extent of what Christine meant, let alone that she was technically also a witness to his work. But Raoul now saw the power that this masked man had on Christine. She clearly knew the extent of his madness, and he knew his girlfriend to be quite logical. Now, she was trapped by some sort of mind game, and he was using his deluding powers to keep Christine all to himself.

"So he did this to try and win you over?" Raoul asked, attempting to piece his thoughts to any logic he could find.

"He believes he's protecting me," Christine said.

"And how does he know so much about you, Christine?"

His hands were reaching up and clutching onto her shoulders, trying to bring Christine's wandering eyes back onto his. She restrained, dragging them down to the floor, finally stealing a glance to him.

"Christine," Raoul begged, "You've given this man too much."

Christine remained silent.

"Do you think what he's done is right?" he pressed.

"No," Christine said immediately, looking straight into Raoul's eyes to confirm it.

But slowly, she looked away. She began to tear up again.

"He's only trying to protect me," Christine said, ashamed.

"And do you feel safe?" Raoul mocked.

Christine looked up to him with a glare in her eyes. His hands released from their grip and fell to his sides. As soon as the pressure was removed from her, Christine let herself drop to her knees on the ground. Raoul followed her down, scooping her into his arms and propping her against his chest.

"Christine?"

He was trying to get a look into her eyes, but she buried her nose deeper into his chest.

"I do feel safer" Christine admitted.

Raoul tensed against her embrace. Christine knew it hurt him to hear, but it was the truth. Just earlier that evening she was uplifting Erik's deeds, and even now she felt an ease knowing that one part of her was left without fear anymore.

"I feel safer, yet I know how dangerous he is," Christine said. "I know he's doing this all to get to me; to gain my trust in him."

"Then why do you praise him?" Raoul asked. "Why do you go back?"

"I don't know," Christine said simply. "It's like I loose sight of everything when he is near me; like I don't belong to the world anymore. But any reason I might have had before tonight to go back to him, I know is gone now."

Raoul looked down to Christine, unsure of what she meant.

"At first, it was about the protection," Christine said. "After thinking that I could have died, I began to realize how weak I really am. No matter how strong I try to make myself, I can't stop everything. I thought that he could. I believed that he could keep anything bad away from me and that if anything, Erik was a sort of guardian to me. Now I see that he is trying to keep me away from everything."

Raoul pulled her in against him, giving her a tight squeeze within his embrace.

"I know he'll do anything to keep me," Christine said. "And as I think about it all, I realize despite everything, I feel so sad for him. I see that I have a dangerous feeling of want for him because of what he once was to me, but even worse, I know that if I don't remove myself from him, he'll continue trying to get me back. It's the exact reason I know I must get away from him: he may kill again just to insist on my safety."

"Then I'm going with you," Raoul said.

"No, Raoul," Christine said. "You were right before. You've worked so hard and you can't give up everything for—"

"You've worked just as hard," Raoul said. "Besides, units can transfer. I'm not leaving you alone in this. We can make it through this together.

"Really?" Christine asked a bit too hopefully.

"Yeah, I mean, we could make this as the start of something even bigger."

"Oh, Raoul," Christine almost cheered, throwing her hands into his. "We could get an apartment together and save much more than we can with the price of this place!"

"And we can start saving for our future," Raoul joined in.

They both fell silent, staring at each other as if they were previously foreboded to speak of such ideas. Perhaps they were even now unable to so freely speak of such things, yet as they each thought of moving out of New York, the weight of their ordeal was lifting just at the thought of getting away.

Christine smiled.

"Let's do it," Christine said.

"Okay," Raoul said, jumping at the idea. "Let's do it!"

"Tomorrow," Christine confirmed.

"Tomorrow?" Raoul questioned.

It was suddenly terrifying to Raoul, but Christine squeezed his hands and smiled hopefully at him.

"Yes," she said. "We'd have to leave immediately."

"But we have too much to pack," Raoul countered.

"No, we can't take much with us," Christine said. "We'll have to pack through the night, but we'll have to be sure to be discrete about it."

"But why?" Raoul asked.

Christine looked to him sadly, as if he were like a child; so unaware of the danger he faced.

"We can't give him the chance to find out that we're leaving."

"How could he find out?" Raoul asked skeptically.

"The same way he found out who my uncle was and where to go to kill him," Christine countered. "And the same way he found out everything he did about me."

Raoul nearly turned white, realizing Christine was right.

He looked around the room and out through the window, trying to catch the glance of the masked man staring at them at that very moment, but he saw nothing.

"We should stop discussing it," Christine said suddenly. "We could risk everything."

"Do you think he could figure it out so easily?" Raoul asked in a lowered voice.

"I don't know," Christine sighed. "I've felt before like he may have been able to watch me. But I'm not sure if that was my fear playing tricks on me."

"Could he be watching now?" Raoul asked, still staring out the window.

"I think we should try and go about our night by gathering our things and preparing for tomorrow as simply as possible."

Christine nodded her head to emphasis as Raoul's eyes widened.

They each silently walked to separate rooms; Raoul to the office and Christine to the bedroom. They went to pick through their things one room as a time, deciding which of their possessions were likely to fit inside of their small bags. Little seemed important to Christine as she only pushed a few clothes to the side which she could pull out of the closet in the morning at the right moment: just before they would leave. Otherwise, her things were placed in a pile along the side of the dresser's top.

She felt devious, as if what she was doing was incredibly wrong, yet she knew she couldn't try to reason with Erik. He wouldn't listen even if she tried. His temper would flare too easily and he'd lose all thought of sense. No matter what sentiment Christine felt for him, and now matter how much she felt sorry for him, she knew Erik was not within his right mind. Pity could only keep her safe for so long.

Christine opened the top drawer of her dresser and reached inside, pulling out a collection of paint brushes, colored pencils and erasers. She could already feel inspiration for a new painting emerging from the blackness of her mind, but she knew she could never display a painting in public again. She surely could never paint for a living as she knew her style would be recognized by the man she was trying to escape.

With a sigh, Christine placed the supplies on the dresser amongst the other things, realizing all she'd worked on was lost, but at least she could still paint for herself.

Christine yawned, feeling the fatigue of the night and her thoughts pulling her down.

She reached up and held onto the cross necklace around her neck, gripping onto the silver pendant until it dented into her skin. She reached behind her neck and unclipped the necklace, letting the cross fall to the bottom of its chain. She held the chain up into the air and watched the cross spin back and forth for a moment. Closing her eyes, Christine grabbed back onto the cross and held it up to her heart, saying a silent prayer to be granted protection and freedom during their flight. She then placed the necklace on the dresser, beside her art supplies.

Tomorrow, she would be on her way to her new future. She and Raoul, both.


	21. Fallen

**Author's Note:** _This is the final chapter of this story. There will be an epilogue to follow which will be short, yet I believe informative to how the story really ends. Look out for that in the next couple days or so. I wanted to make note of a comment I got a few times through reviews of this story, and that is the lack of a conjoining assets that make Christine and Erik have something in common. I didn't have something they both enjoyed because the point was that there was nothing they had in common. This was a twist with the plot to see that Erik was only obsessed with the idea of Christine. This is not how I see the story of POTO overall, but it was an idea I'd been toying with for some time before I began to write this phic, so this is the result of how I think that would work. It also explains why this phic ends like it does... _

_I would like to thank EVERYBODY who has read this story, reviewed/commented on it, and especially to those who have continued reading it to the end. I'm glad you have enjoyed up until this point and I hope that you enjoy the conclusion. I do have another fic planned after this and I've already got the beginning written on paper. After all of the craze in fairy tale retellings, I decided I'd like to make the story of Phantom into some sort of a fairy tale. The setting will be different as well as how the Phantom is created, but it also links the fluff of Leroux which will include Raoul and Christine's childhood place... Perros! More details about that are listed on my profile page and will be posted in the author's note section before chapters if necessary. _

_Anyway! Now that all of that is out of the way, thank you all SO much for your support throughout this fiction and please leave a comment with what you think! _

_- Phantom's angel_

* * *

><p>A harsh blue light and the melodic chime of a cell phone had Christine turning over toward the bedside table. She reached out to the light and flipped open the screen before even opening her eyes. She was still hardly awake as she held the phone up to her ear and cleared her throat before letting out a groggy "hello?"<p>

"Christine," the voice said on the other end of the line.

Her stomach knotted.

Christine turned her head on the pillow and ran her arm over her brow, making failed attempts to wake herself up.

"Yeah," she said.

"It's Joe, from the restaurant," the man said in his thick Brooklyn accent, stating that which was already obvious to Christine. "You still sleepin'?"

"No, I'm up," Christine lied. "What's wrong?"

Her first thought was that he knew everything. That he was calling to check if she was coming in for her shift later that night. That he was going to chide her for being such a child and leaving everything behind her. But how could he possibly know? Nobody could possibly know her and Raoul's plan.

"I have your necklace here," Joe said.

"Necklace?" Christine asked.

She sat up in the bed, looking over to Raoul, who had now turned away from her and pulled the covers over his head.

They both had a long night, pacing around the apartment silently, deciding which possessions were worth bringing on their flight from New York City. Their eyes met every so often, but they didn't dare say another word to each other after their preceding conversation. Christine collected very little, while Raoul was torn on what items of his past he would bring along with him. Christine peered around the corner at times, seeing how hard it was for him to decide. Christine felt sorry that she would be taking Raoul away from his past, because he had nothing to run from. Yet here she was, dragging him away; hiding from her demon just as she had in the past. At least this time, she wouldn't be alone.

Christine turned away, clearing her throat again.

"Yeah, the cross you always wear," Joe said. "It was on the counter this morning when I came in. I thought I'd let you know as soon as possible, but I didn't expect you to still be in bed this late."

Christine pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the time.

9:17 am.

After the stress of the night before, Christine didn't care what he thought about her sleeping patterns. She only cared that they were loosing valuable time in leaving.

"I'll be there in half an hour," Christine said.

"Oh, you don't have to get it now," Joe said. "I just didn't want you worrying about it. Pick it up before your shift tonight."

Christine was already pulling the covers off of her legs and stepping onto the floor. A shiver embraced her warm skin, hunching her shoulders in to protect her from the chill. She pulled the phone down from her ear and looked to the closet, where a section of clothes she planned to take with her was hanging aside from the rest she would leave behind. Then she looked across to the dresser where the rest of her items were placed; the pencils, erasers and paint brushes. They were still sitting where she had kept them last night.

With a deep sigh, Christine held the phone back up to her ear again.

"I'll be there in _twenty_ minutes."

* * *

><p>Before leaving, Christine informed Raoul for the reason of her absence and urged him to wake and prepare for their departure. He looked apprehensively at her, but then smiled and shook his head. It seemed clear that he understood how much the small trinket meant to her.<p>

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" he asked.

"You have more to pack than I do," Christine replied. "Gather what you can and start pack in twenty minutes. By then, I should be on my way back."

"Alright," Raoul said, pulling her in close to planting a kiss on her forehead.

"Once I get back, I'll put my things in a bag and we'll leave immediately."

"Hurry back," Raoul urged.

"I will," Christine said, forcing a weak smile.

* * *

><p>The bell rang as Christine pushed through the door of the small local restaurant. Joe was the owner and manager of the place and was standing beside a senior server named Kathy who had been working the morning shift ever since Christine started. Kathy was pouring coffee into an elderly man's cup and looked up, nodding to Joe as Christine came strolling in. Immediately, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white sheet of paper. Within the crumpled page a silver chain dangled out of its folds.<p>

"There it is," Joe announced as Christine approached the counter.

Christine immediately reached her hand out for it, expecting to simply take her property and leave.

Instead, Joe turned it over in his hand and uncrumpled the paper, unraveling the chain from within.

_"Left on table 11, please return to Christine,"_ he read from the note aloud. "Not sure who wrote it, but they do know the restaurant."

"What?" Christine asked quietly.

"I don't know, that's just what the note said," Joe explained.

"You don't know who left it?" Christine asked.

"Not a clue," Joe said.

Christine shot her hand out for the necklace, urging for her manager to pass it off to her quickly. His eyes watched as her fingers unfurled over the counter top, and Kathy glanced over to him, showing her disapproval of Christine's disrespect toward him.

"I'm sorry," Christine said to try and amend, "I…I need to get going."

"You want the note?" Joe asked.

"No, that's—"

She didn't want to see it, but her sudden anxiety over the moment told her otherwise.

"Yes, please," she said.

Joe held the necklace and the paper over the counter, crumpled together in one. Christine took it cautiously and turned to leave, planning on never looking back again. As she reached the door, Joe called out to her.

"See you in tonight?"

Christine forced a smile and pushed the door open.

As soon as Christine left the restaurant, she began to run. She held the necklace and the paper clutched in her fingers until she was stopped by the traffic crossing in front of her. Her fingers unraveled the paper from its chain and flattened it in the palm of her hand.

It was just as Joe had read it: _Left on table 11, please return to Christine. _

The writing caught Christine's attention first.

She remembered the style from a leather bound notebook she'd grown to know, and it was identical to the small, scratchy penmanship that was scrawled across the note in her hand.

Her eyes lit with horror, remembering that she had specifically taken her necklace off the night before and left it with the few belongings she planned to take with her. There was only one way it would have turned up at the restaurant.

Without a moment's hesitation, Christine began to make her way across the street, unfathomed by the angry horns wailing at her as she crossed against the signal's biding.

All she knew was that she had to get back to Raoul.

* * *

><p>She could see the door to the apartment was open when she has half-way through the hall. No light was shining from inside, yet she could see that the door was wide open. Christine ran, gripping tightly onto the necklace and the paper together. She pulled open the door and stopped, hearing a shuffling sound just around the corner from the entry.<p>

"Raoul?" she called.

Another rustle.

Then silence.

"Raoul?" Christine called again, slowly stepping around the corner.

Her eyes first caught sight of the curtains drawn from the window. The sunlight was harsh against the contrasting dark from the entry. Christine shielded her eyes and searched as she heard another shuffle and then a muffled voice calling her name.

"Raoul!"

Just to the side of the window, Christine could see Raoul struggling, standing on the arm of the couch, trying not to fall backwards. Behind him was a cloaked figure gripping a looped rope around Raoul's neck. One arm held the lasso up into the air while the other was holding Raoul up against his chest with light amber eyes glowing above him.

"Erik, no!" Christine cried.

Raoul struggled against the figure's chest again, but Erik casually pulled the rope up higher, cutting Raoul's breath short. He coughed and spat, trying to regain his breath as Erik let a low chuckle escape from his lips. Without paying one glance behind him, Erik tossed the excess rope behind him over a rod that stuck out from the window's banister. It looped around twice until Erik took a step down from the couch, holding the rope low in his hands. With a quick tug, the rope tightened around Raoul's neck and he was nearly hanging in the air, unable to breath.

Christine took a step forward, throwing her hand up into the air to try and cease Erik's behavior.

"How long did you think you'd have until I knew, Christine?" Erik sneered.

Her hand continued reaching out to Raoul, her lips quivering.

"Please, Erik…"

"How long?" Erik shouted.

"I don't know, Erik, please," she begged. "Let him go."

"Why would I do that, Christine?" Erik asked. "Because you want to leave with him? Because he's the one who is meant to save you from the _monster?"_

"Erik—"

"Quiet!" he screamed at her. "You knew damn well you could never truly escape from me!"

Christine slowly took a step toward Raoul, holding a cautious hand up in the air, hoping that she could at least get to his side before Erik realized. As soon as her foot stepped onto the ground, Erik nearly ran up in front of her, holding the excess rope tight in his grip as he went. His hands locked around her shoulders and dug their boney fingers into her flesh. Christine struggled against him, crying out in pain as he whipped her head back to face him.

"He is not good for you, Christine Daae," Erik spat at her. "He does nothing but show you off. There's no regard for your well-being in his intentions…"

"No," Christine said, struggling against him again. She pushed her hands up against his and forced his arms to release her. The rope tightened in their struggle and Raoul choked again. Christine made her best attempts to remain focused. "No, Erik, you're wrong. _You're_ not good for me."

Erik remained still, looking straight into her eyes. He took a steady step forward, unphased by her words, and leaned close against her, closing the gap between them. Christine trembled, afraid that he would try and embrace her as he had the night before. He could see her fear, for a smirk crossed his lips and a single gloved hand reached up and ran through her hair.

"Would it be so terrible, Christine?" he said smoothly. "If I _were _to kiss you once again?"

"I would not allow it," Christine said as bravely as possible.

"That's not what I asked you," Erik said, almost sadly.

He took a step away from Christine, running the rope holding Raoul through his fingers as elegantly as he had smoothed her hair. His grace didn't fail him, even now in the terror of the moment. Christine shuddered at how easy it was for him.

"I didn't ask to be brought into your life, Christine. It just happened… I didn't want to damage you so, but you were such a simple girl. You were so simple and so afraid, and you needed someone to protect you."

A tear crossed over Christine's cheek, staining her skin and breaking a path for the rest of the tears that followed. She knew she was weak and she knew she needed strength. But she also knew that Erik's strength also made her weaker. He overpowered her too much.

"You need somebody to keep you away from the demons in your life… not somebody to _throw more at you_," Erik said, tossing the last of his words as an insult to Raoul.

Christine looked to the ground, feeling shame ride over her. She was ashamed to have been so naïve to allow herself to fall prey to Erik's games. She was ashamed to have let herself believe that he would truly protect her. And most of all, she was ashamed to have brought all of this upon Raoul.

"You cannot continue like this," Erik nearly whispered.

His hand reached out toward her, coaxing Christine to take it and step into his embrace once again. The darkness of his coat beckoned her, nearly making her forget about Raoul all over again. The dark… that which Erik lived in and which Christine had become strangely so accustomed to. Even in the months absent of Erik's presence, Christine was shadowed in darkness.

"No, I can't," Christine agreed slowly.

She reached out, placing her hand in his grasp. His fingers curled around her and he looked deep within her eyes, keeping her fixated on the amber orbs staring into her.

"Yes, my love," Erik cooed, pulling her into his arms.

"Christine, no," Raoul said in a muffled tone, struggling to gain slack on the rope holding him up.

Christine didn't look over to him. She kept her eyes on Erik, searching to imagine what was behind the mask he wore. Not for the face which she had seen, but for the soul which consumed the tortured soul.

What drove the man beneath the mask; the one who harbored a treacherous heart when provoked? What madness could she evoke from him now?

"You don't love me," Christine said boldly, staring into his amber eyes with pity. "You know nothing of love at all."

Erik's grip tightened on her hand, squeezing her delicate fingers until they went numb. Christine kept her gaze steady on him.

"You saw my face and became obsessed with me. You learned every aspect of my life and fell in love with the idea of me," she continued. "You know every petty fact about me, but you could never know the details which you cannot define."

Erik whipped her around and shot an arm out from the folds of his jacket, gripping tightly around her neck. Christine hardly tried to defend herself against him, but Raoul wildly thrashed against the rope holding him, kicking and pounding against the walls to try and loosen the hold.

"Shut up!" Erik roared at her, lowering his face up against hers.

Erik threw her out from his grip and across the room, spilling her onto the floor into the side of a bookshelf. Christine cried out, but remained on the floor, looking down at her hands to brave herself for her neck blow.

"You've become fixated on covering up your face that you needed me to control you," Christine yelled.

Erik crossed back in Christine's direction, storming over her body on the floor and leaned over her with his hands out and coiled, ready to strike.

"My beauty was what drew you to me in the first place, and without that, you'd never even know me."

His hands sprung out and grabbed onto her hair, pulling her up off of the floor and holding her up into her face. Her feet kicked beneath her, eventually finding their footing to hold her up on her own, but Erik had his masked face up against hers, his eyes nearly on fire and his teeth bared like a beast.

"Shut up!" he screamed louder this time.

A hand reached back.

"Do it!" Christine cried. "Go ahead, hit me! I'm not afraid of you anymore!"

Erik's hand ceased its motion, remaining still in the air behind him.

Raoul stirred on the couch beside them, a soft moan coming from him as he watched how close the man was to hitting his girlfriend.

"I know you use violence to ease your pain," Christine said softly this time. "You protected me because you can't protect yourself."

Erik's hold released completely. His eyes shone with anger, yet his lips were slightly parted as apprehension showed through his eyes. His arms dropped to his sides and he stepped backward, curling his arms into his chest and embracing himself against the words of truth used against him.

"Christine," Raoul murmured, breaking her spell as she watched Erik retract.

She slowly turned to see him standing as still as possible, pulling at the lasso around his neck and trying to restrain his fear. Christine sighed, seeing the fear inside of the eyes of the man she loved. Her time with Erik had reduced him to this: a weakened man who was willing to give up his life for a foolish child.

Christine pressed her hand to her lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, throwing the kiss across to him as she turned her hand out.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed to him. "I love you."

"No," Raoul said, struggling against the rope, nearly pulling out of the trap through Erik's loosened grip.

Christine turned back to Erik and rose up to her knees. Her head arched back to look him straight in the eye and her hands held out at the level of her chest.

"I will go with you," Christine said carefully. "Forever."

Erik turned slowly toward Christine.

He took one long step to her and was hovering over her again. Christine's eyes remained on his as he looked to her over the tip of where his nose should have been underneath the mask. Christine could not read the expression showing through his eyes; they were nearly blank.

"I will go with you," she continued, "If you let Raoul go."

His eyes then illustrated regret.

_I'm sorry…I'm so sorry… _

Just like she heard through muffled cries… just could see when he first planned to take her down to his world in the darkness of the city.

"I'm sorry, Christine," he said.

He broke his glance with Christine, slowly gathering the rope in his hand as he walked back toward Raoul. Christine remained on the floor, watching as Erik reached out toward the noose around Raoul's neck. He untied a single loop from the banister of the window.

"No matter where you go," Erik said slowly; deliberately… as if he'd planned it. "Whatever you may do… the boy will follow you."

Christine cocked her head to the side.

"I don't understand."

Erik stepped up onto the couch, toying with the lasso. Christine watched him, waiting for him to slip it up and over his head.

"Even under my protection, you are not safe from him," Erik said, giving the noose a quick tug. "No matter where you go, he will always be out to find you… And we can't have that."

As Christine prepared to jump up onto her feet, Erik turned to Raoul and gave him a swift kick to the chest. The rope loosened from the banister, unraveling in Erik's hands as Raoul fell back into the window, crashing through the glass. His legs hit the backing of the couch behind him, flipping him over as he continued to fall, slipping out of the shattered window toward the street below. Christine tipped over her feet as she attempted to rise, reaching a hand out to the air as she watched the horror wash over Raoul's face. He was almost lifeless as he knew his fate was coming rather quickly… all that was stopping him from hitting the concrete below was the end of the rope which Erik controlled.

The rope halted with a quick jerk and then there was silence.

* * *

><p>Christine had managed to pull Raoul's body back into the apartment on her own. She couldn't stand to hear the cries of hatred from the people below, assuming that the person left inside of the apartment had murdered the poor man left dangling over the street. She was uncertain how Erik fled, but it didn't matter. She was now alone with Raoul… finally alone. She could feel it.<p>

She cradled his body in her arms, caressing his bloodied cheeks and assorting the misplaced hair around his temples. The murmurs on the street seemed to disappear for just a moment as she held him in her arms and kissed his lips. She cradled him like a child, finally being the one to watch over him as had had done before.

Her hands were clutched together, but a sharp sting on Christine's palm urged her to open her hand, revealing the cross necklace she had gone to retrieve that morning. The crumpled paper was still wrapped around the chain, decaying from the moistness of Christine's hand throughout the scenario. She unraveled the necklace and dropped the paper onto the floor, holding the cross over Raoul's body. The silver piece glistened in the sun reflecting from the open window. Christine unhooked the clasp and wrapped it around Raoul's neck, clipping it around him tenderly.

As she began to hear sirens in the distance, she took the time to step away from Raoul's body and pulled out her cell phone.

Slowly, she dialed 911.

"Yes, I'd like to report a murder…"

She didn't give many details to the dispatcher, but as a swarm of police and investigators entered the apartment, she told them everything she knew.

She told them that it was done by a man named Erik. There was no last name to report. She informed them that he had killed at least two others that she knew of, and even gave them the best knowledge of his last known residence. They removed the body quickly, easing only an ounce of Christine's pain, but the investigators stayed much longer, questioning Christine repeatedly to be sure they were getting a truthful story; it all must have seemed too insane to be true, but her continued honesty and repetition made them eventually begin to suspect her less.

"Come down to the department tonight for further questioning," the officers concluded. "If he is still a threat to you, we will place you under a protection program."

Christine nodded slowly.

"Yes, of course. I will."

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><p>Christine took great care in preparing herself before leaving that night. It would be the last time she would be seen out in the city and she wanted the moment to at least feel decent. She had taken her favorite coat, a red scarf and a warm knitted hat and left everything else behind. She took an empty purse to give the impression that she actually had a reason to be dressed so nicely. No possessions, no art tools, and no clothes were necessary this time. She knew what she had to do.<p>

As she made her way down the street, her boots echoed on the sidewalk, mocking her solitude as she went.

She once had everything: a loving boyfriend, a place to live, a job, scholarships, and potential as an artist. Now as she looked about New York City for the last time, she felt nothing.

The construction zone was nearly complete just down the street from the apartment building she would once have called her home. As she walked toward it, she felt no fear as the men stopped from their work and whistled out to her. They called her beautiful, coaxing her to stop for a conversation or to pass along her phone number, but she simply kept her head high and continued on until she was past them. Then it was over.

_Silly child,_ she thought. _Was that all it took?_

Turning down the alley she once hoped to find shelter in, a dark figure waited on the other end. Christine paused, noticing that the figure's head was turned down and had a hood to cover their features. Taking in a short breath of air, she walked forward, pressing straight toward the shadow without fear. She'd never need protection again.

As she approached closer to the shadow, a hand shot out from the folds of the jacket and it grabbed onto Christine's wrist. She stopped and looked straight into the glow of amber eyes.

"You told the police everything," the phantom figure said.

"I did," Christine said valiantly. "I know they'll never find you."

Christine could see Erik's eyes wandering over her and an amused smile press over his lips. She took a step closer to him. Their misted puffs of breath lingered together in the night as Erik looked down onto Christine's face with contentment.

"They'll never find either of us," Erik said.

"No," Christine said distantly.

Erik lifted his arm and Christine immediately stepped beneath his jacket, allowing his arm to fold across her chest. As accustomed, Erik tilted his head down as he walked, avoiding contact with any wandering eyes as they went. This time, Christine kept her head up high.

She didn't wish to be discovered.

But rather than walking in shame, she wanted to walk in pride.

Her life as she wished it to be was now over. But in her sacrifice, she was saving those she had left who she loved. She was saving those she never had the chance to meet. She knew her life was no longer hers, but meant to keep the sanity of the man who had fallen into obsession with her. And now, as she walked toward her fate, she knew that despite her hopes that anybody would someday find her… Erik would always find a way against that.

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><p><em>Reviews greatly appreciated... <strong>epilogue to come.<strong>_


	22. Epilogue

**_Epilogue - Written in Christine's Point of View_**

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><p><em>Despite what I imagined, Erik's way was endurable. After leaving the alley, we stayed beneath the surface of the city, emerging within the interior substructure of an abandoned theater. I didn't know which district we were in, but I suppose that was the point. Preparations had already been made and food had already been stored before our arrival. The same ice cooler was set in the center of the floor as we crawled through a small space which dropped us into an open circular flat within the walls. There was no tin trashcan for lighting… the structure being made entirely from wood hindered that. Yet once again, a single bed was set in a compartment separate from the cooler. Erik swore he didn't need a place to rest. <em>

_ We lived silently, speaking only of hunger, fatigue, comfort and art. Erik would appear at my side often, simply watching me in my silence. He never again apologized for the events which took place that horrible day, but the few times in the beginning that I cried, he stood close by and watched, undoubtedly unsure how to handle my pain which subsided quickly._

_ Shortly after settling in, I woke to find a large assortment of art supplies lined up against the wall opposite from the cooler. Pencils, erasers, water colors, acrylics, brushes, clay; all set out for my perusal. I sat on the floor and examined each tool as Erik emerged behind me. He informed me that any space I found suitable would be my canvas; the entire theater was my palate. Slowly, I nodded, letting the faintest of smiles form on my lips. _

_ It seemed after the two-week marker of being under Erik's protection, my nerves allowed me to find some form of comfort. It was then that I started to paint. I'd vowed that the only memories I would allow would be those translated through art. Aside from this, it was a successful ploy against my heart. I thought of nothing but the simple objects around me, the genius of Erik's continual transformation of our underground domain, art, and that I didn't ever want to be found. Despite my lingering acrimony toward Erik's actions, I did not want to be found. There would be too many questions… which would lead to memories._

_ Once I started up my art again, time did not exist. Two weeks had turned to nothing but sleep verses wakefulness and I had no desire to know the date anymore. Even Erik offered the time and day, but it no longer mattered to me. The moment I told Erik this new revelation, he paused briefly and then smirked. He was finally getting me to see his way._

_ Our silence continued not on purpose, but as comfort. We both seemed to know that apologies and forgiveness were lost in this place, so we allowed our common presence with each other be enough for company. _

_ Until one day…_

_ A loud crash sounded from above. It was followed by muffled laughter and then conversation. Erik looked at me in seriousness – this protectiveness over me kicking in at once – and he proceeded through the web of our realm to discover that a theater company had just bought the building. It would be up and running again within months after renovations. _

_ Erik assured that there would be no reason to leave and I believed him. I couldn't help but believe him._

_ As contractors and construction men entered the building, Erik kept me within the farthest reaches of them. Meanwhile, he set to work ensuring that our domain would remain intact. Once the hard-hatted men left, we emerged victorious, having all of our passages and rooms beneath the surface of the naked eye still standing. As the thespians began arriving for auditions and rehearsals, word quickly spread of hauntings within the old theater. Erik had been seen within the shadows, but his detection had only given him strength. _

_ Erik found empowerment in being dead, with all the respect in the world offered to him. It was the first time he'd ever felt such reverence toward him. _

_ As the stories grew in imagination, so did Erik's trickery. He became a bit of a legend to the company, resorting to now stealing their belongings and presenting them to me as gifts. I could not deny his attempts at keeping me comfortable and pleasing me, though I did offer my opinion on the matter once. No longer was there consistency with the tales, for everybody had their own account to tell. The imaginative stories created about him were at times the basis of our short conversations, bringing us together to speak as real humans from time to time. Otherwise, we were shadowed in silence, watching the lives of others unwind before us while we immersed ourselves in our forms of art. _

_He kept to his books and writing while I continued to paint any surface I desired. It took time for me to find comfort in reviving my talents with paint, but as soon as I had, I spent endless amounts of time perfecting projects, finding no end in sight; just as Erik had once taught me. Over time, the walls beneath the interior of the theater were covered with the saddest murals I believed were in existence. Everything I had felt my entire life was shamelessly plastered against the walls. The residence we'd taken up had become a playground to two mad souls: one whose obsessions guided his intellect and one whose obsession guided her bitter heart._

_ Though he hardly spoke, Erik often was content to simply stare at me. I'd wake sometimes at night to find him standing to the side of my bed, unaffected by fatigue as he had his eyes locked on me. While I perfected my art, he'd stand off and peered, not watching the paint grace the surface of the walls, but my hand holding the brush. When I left the base of our dwelling to roam the small corridors created through crawlspaces for our use, I'd feel his presence behind me, watching as intently as I watched the rehearsals taking place around me. I learned to see past his constant gaze, just as I nearly had before I was captive to his style of life; back when I existed to the earth._

_Through the narratives of the theater company amongst us, Erik's legend as the ghost turned for a loop. He'd overheard a young performance group gossiping, saying that they knew the ghost was a walking skeleton. The immediacy to the truth enraged Erik, but it eventually became the general depiction of him. _

_He would return to the depths of our dwelling in fits every time the description was offered, swinging his fists at me and then cursing himself for his insolence later._

_His eyes would offer no light in his anger, glazing over like a wild beast's, and his claw-like fingers would dig into my skin. He'd scream in my face, cursing their ignorance and enacting that which he wished to do to them to me. _

_Then he'd look at me. _

_He'd look into my eyes and see the tears… see the pain he'd caused and retract._

_I'd learned to remain as silent as possible during the abuse, especially once the ghost stories turned toward featuring me. They began to involve a young woman who had died at the hand of the original ghost. It all started after a group had heard my pleas against Erik's anger late one night. To the actors and stagehands, this was their reasoning for the theater becoming abandoned in the first place. This story irked Erik the most. _

_As the stories of the ghost and his lady spread, Erik's temper increased, eventually turning his anger into self-loathing. He'd hit me, then turn and hold me in his arms, close against his chest, cursing himself and begging for mercy. He'd hold my face close to his and spread his lips over mine, frantically pulling at my lips to evoke my forgiveness. _

_I hadn't the heart to deny him, so I'd lightly kiss him back. He'd tremble and choke on his tears, then curse the mask which increased his clumsy craze. I often pulled away, softly suggesting removing the mask, hoping that he would find truth in my words that his face didn't bother me. Instead, he'd kiss me more passionately – more gauchely – eventually crawling off to an unknown corner of our realm for retrieval._

_He never took advantage of me further than his kiss. He was too ashamed with himself afterward to pursue and I wouldn't allow to give myself to him in full anyway. The cursed face beneath the mask didn't hinder my choice, for even the few times I had seen it, I asked Erik to leave it off. I told him he needed to learn to live without it, but he silently scoffed at me and replaced it, returning him to his usual empowered self. It was his soul which frightened me so, especially during his tempers. The fear I felt as he leaned over me and as his eyes nearly spit fire at me made me sometimes wonder how old I would end up living to be. _

_Above anything, the most I could honestly feel for Erik was pity._

_His anger would always subside over time, and then I would once again feel safe knowing that I truly was free of fearing the outside world. As I listened to the thespians speak of their stress, their worries, their fears, their joys… I knew that I would no longer have such complicated issues to dwell over. Though an easy way out, the choice in the matter was not mine. Erik had decided for me, and I was forced to be content with that._

_Though it was not the life I predicted for myself, I knew it was how I had to remain. For the safety of my family, who I knew would worry the rest of their lives for me, and those I may have ever come in contact with, I had to reduce myself to this. I may not have found love, but I did find freedom. Freedom from the world above and their constant expectation, freedom from others knowing the secrets I kept hidden, and freedom from anybody who could hurt me… more than Erik ever could._

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><p>Thank you all for reading<p>

- Phantom's angel


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